


Fathers Who Could Do With A Spot of Sinning

by blamebrampton



Series: Sins of the Fathers [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 65,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamebrampton/pseuds/blamebrampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their sons fall in large amounts of teenaged love at school, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter decide it's finally time to talk like adults about their own ties to each other. If only they could. Meanwhile, events of national importance conspire to distract them.</p><p>[An old story from 2007, reading the notes will help.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title started as a joke, and by the time I had a more serious one, had stuck. This will teach me to make jokes. Fanfic is serious business.
> 
> This story is a sequel to _Sins of the Fathers_ (Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Potter), and will make more sense if read after that story. The short version is, Scorpius and Albus meet at school and follow the plotline of Sansa1970’s _20 Random Facts about Scorpius Malfoy_ (a short fic; _Sins_ was written in reply to Sansa’s wish for a longer version) to the point where they are shagging. Along the way, a nagging sensation of H/D subtext becomes apparent. The action begins five minutes after the lads have broken it to their fathers that they are going out. 
> 
> It was begun in 2007, just after Deathly Hallows, at a time when Draco’s wife had no name (and so is here his ex-wife, played by a lovely French woman called Helene), Scorpius Malfoy had no middle name, we though Ron was going to stay an Auror, Narcissa Malfoy could canonically be read as never a True Believer and I had the mad belief I had time to write fanfic. Many things have changed since then.
> 
> Handy things to know for this world include:  
> In these post-reform days, the Aurors wear black coats instead of the red robes of book canon, because it’s ridiculous trying to sneak up on the bad guy if you are wearing red when everyone else is wearing black.
> 
> If you have never heard of the Thames Barrier, it may help you to look it up for story purposes. Also because it is a gorgeous and brilliant piece of engineering that everyone should know about.
> 
> The prequel contained several moments of explosion/arson/general devastation. You don't need to know them for the purposes of this story, but it does explain why the staff of St Mungo's are on such familiar terms with everyone.
> 
> Many, many thanks to the wonderful jadzialove for her beta skills (I have doubtless left a few typos in just to spite her over the years.) Thanks, too, to raitala, norton_gale, libby_drew (formerly known as sansa1970), treacle-tartlet, goddessriss and pingrid for epic amounts of encouragement when it looked as though I would never finish! It was written over the space of a ridiculously long time, and, since I had always said it was a three-part fic, I think that Part 3 on LJ ended up being something close to 40,000 words. Oops.

****

Fathers Who Could Do With A Spot of Sinning

Harry Potter closes the door and leans back against it for a long moment, looking down at the rug, a smile glimmering at the edges of his mouth.

Draco is perched on Harry's oak desk; it is the furthest point of the room from the door that he can reach without being obvious. He does rather wish he could sit behind it, though. Half a tree is the minimum he would like to have between himself and Harry if this conversation is to have a hope of staying neutral. Harry opens his mouth, as though to speak, so Draco waits. Harry closes his mouth again.

Harry continues to smile. It's an attractive smile. And bloody annoying.

Draco busies his mind by giving it a stern talking to about the tingling it is still attributing to his shoulder. Grown men do not come over all flustered at a brush of fingertips through fabric – and if they do, it's certainly not the case for brushes of shoulders.

Draco gives up on waiting. "I like being your friend," he says.

Harry glances up at him, surprised. "And?"

Draco shrugs. "That's it. I like being your friend. We worked hard to get here and I don't want to risk it for the sake of one kiss twenty-five years ago."

Harry is smiling again, but now he looks at Draco. "Two kisses," he says, "And a spot of hands-down-pants action."

Draco rolls his eyes. "The point, Harry, the essential and to my mind quite meaningful point, is that it was twenty-five years ago."

"I like being your friend, too," Harry confides. "You're fun to work with and you're entertaining to be around."

"Exactly," Draco grins. "So let's just accept that our sons are far better at the schoolboy relationship thing than we ever were, be supportive, and move on with being friends ourselves. We can consume beverages and argue Ministry politics in pubs."

Harry frowns. "We don't argue Ministry politics, we _are _Ministry politics." Draco pointedly ignores him.__

__A happier thought follows. "Our boys are going out!" Harry laughs brightly. "Can you imagine what your dad would have said?"_ _

__Draco laughs, too, somewhat more darkly. "Absolutely. He'd have said: 'Well done, Scorpius! There's a political alliance worth having! Make sure you have access to the drinks cabinet in case we need to poison somebody.'"_ _

__Harry rolls his eyes at him, but accepts that this is true. "Sirius would have kidnapped Al and spent a weekend checking him for Imperius or other curses. And when he found nothing, he'd have spent about a year looking at you and Scorpius intently, then occasionally shrugging and saying: 'I suppose they do have that Black magnetism, it's the only explanation.'"_ _

__Draco does not reply to this immediately, because he can't talk with his lips pursed together to hold back gales of laughter. After a few minutes his shoulders stop shaking and he flicks his hair back from his face. "This is true," he deadpans. "Black magnetism has made recent generations of Malfoys pretty much irresistible."_ _

__"I know." Harry is smiling that enigmatic smile again._ _

__Draco throws a block of Post-Its at him, which Harry catches with ease. "You are an enormous pain, you know that, don't you, Potter?"_ _

__"This opinion has been advanced in the past, yes. Usually by you."_ _

__"Exactly," Draco says. "And, since I have a signed letter of thanks from you, as head of your department, commenting on my intelligence, resourcefulness and reliability, I think that we should give that opinion the weight it deserves."_ _

__"Back to the kissing, I remember it perfectly," Harry says, grinning._ _

__Draco shuts his eyes. "I am not looking at you until you start to act like a reasonable adult."_ _

__"I am!" He hears the laughter in Harry's voice. "It's entirely reasonable that, as an adult, I point out that I have never forgotten the fact that I was quite prepared to shag you senseless back at school."_ _

__Draco opens his eyes, and they are cooler now. "A quarter of a century ago. In the interim, we've both married and had kids. I am fairly convinced that your marriage, like mine, was very real at the time."_ _

__Harry's face is serious now, too. "It was," he agrees. "We just grew apart, and it didn't seem fair to the kids to keep pretending."_ _

__"No," Draco says. "It's not. And they were old enough to understand." This last reassurance is spoken partly to himself._ _

__"They were," Harry agrees again._ _

__After a minute he adds, "Ginny was jealous of you."_ _

__Draco is genuinely shocked. "You told Ginny? As if she needed more reason to hate me!"_ _

__"Of course I didn't tell her, don't be ridiculous." Harry rolls his eyes at Draco again. "It was just that you were always there, always such a focus …"_ _

__Draco shakes his head. "That doesn't make any sense. I saw you during the war proper for a grand total of six hours. And prior to that we spent six years hating each other."_ _

__"Hating each other with vigour and devotion," Harry agrees, nodding._ _

__Draco begins to laugh. "Oh no you don't. You do not get to rewrite that as some kind of subtextual longing. You thought I was a Death Eater and I thought you were a self-righteous prig."_ _

__Harry laughs, too. "Yeah, but I thought you were a fanciable Death Eater."_ _

__Draco threatens to throw Harry's stapler at him. "Six years of hating, then six hours of terrifying near death over the course of a year," he reminds him._ _

__"That last year was so strange," Harry goes on. " I had such a lot of time to think, and I kept worrying that you'd do something stupid and get yourself killed, or do something really stupid and turn into a fully fledged Voldemort supporter."_ _

__Draco grimaces slightly. "Always my Father's dream more than mine, no matter how cheerfully I bought into some of his prejudices at the time." He pauses. "You were thinking of me? Why?"_ _

__Harry shrugs. "Was stuck in a tent. With Hermione, who was in a foul mood about Ron most of the time. You were a pleasant option." He smiles at the face Draco pulls. "That's the thing, I should have been thinking about Ginny, and I did, but I always knew where she was and what she was doing. I could never work out what you were on about in those days."_ _

__"Have you worked it out now?" Draco raises an eyebrow, amused._ _

__"Of course!" Harry laughs. "You're the most like me of all my friends."_ _

__Draco is so surprised to hear this that he forgets to make the joke that has sprung to his mind._ _

__Harry continues: "That's why you used to make me so furious. I couldn't work out how you could believe the crap you did, and then, during the war, I realised that you didn't. But when we were all at the Manor, I couldn't see any way to get you out of there, and I realised that I was just as capable of making bad decisions for the sake of the people I loved as you were."_ _

__Draco is frowning now. He tries not to think of that day. Harry doesn't appear to notice. "And so I thought of you again in the weeks that followed. I worried more, because I knew, then, that you were in danger. And then all of a sudden you were there at Hogwarts."_ _

__"Being ineffective, Harry," Draco reminds him. "I think the best I was hoping for was that I could keep Greg and Vince from killing themselves. So, one out of two ..." Draco's voice is low and dark, Harry ignores him._ _

__"And then there you were, trying to save me again," Harry continues._ _

__"As I recall it, you were the one who flew me from certain death in a burning room …"_ _

__"And your arms were the most solidly human thing I'd felt in months. And you were crying for Crabbe, and Ron and Hermione ran off, and …" Harry's voice is thick with remembered emotion._ _

__Draco's is crisp. "And we both thought we were going to die and wanted to feel alive one last time before we did. That's all, Harry. And a few hours later you were back to hating me again. And after the hell my family put you through, I can't say I blame you. But you were always decent to me at work, and the last few years have been great. Really great. I don't want to lose any of that."_ _

__"Draco …" Harry shakes his head. "We won't lose that, we can't lose that."_ _

__"Pott-ter…" Draco drawls in an exaggerated fashion. "Have you seen your relationship history? It's abysmal. Poor Cho Chang spent years wondering what happened, and your wife appears to have run off with Luna Lovegood."_ _

__"They're just friends," Harry answers automatically._ _

__There is a moment of silence and shared looks, then both men explode in laughter. They laugh so loudly that it takes a few minutes for them to hear the voice calling their names._ _

__Harry opens the study door, Ron Weasley is in the garden, looking about. Harry calls to him and Ron waves, meeting up with them in the sunroom. "Rose sent me to check that no one needed rescuing," he says._ _

__Harry and Draco exchange grins. "She told you about the boys?" Harry asks._ _

__"No need," Ron replies, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, why do you all overlook the fact that I am astute and observant?"_ _

__Draco pats him on the shoulder. "Sorry, Weasley, no matter how great an Auror you are, I always see the boy who didn't notice the girl he hung out with every day at school fancied him. Six years of thickness made quite the impression."_ _

__"I swear, it's worse than Aberforth and his goat …" Ron mutters. Glancing at the table, he cheers up. "Is anyone eating this lunch?"_ _

__Harry passes plates to his friends and the three men sit about scoffing sandwiches for a comfortable while._ _

__"So Rose was really worried?" Draco asks._ _

__Ron laughs. "She had me clean out the barn in case Al and Scorp needed it. I told her she was being overly dramatic, but she's been reading a lot of Muggle literature lately. Hermione says too much E.M. Forster can turn anyone's brain. Anyway, I told her I'd pop by, and Hermione thought I might need an afternoon of sanity before I'm clobbered by four kids this evening."_ _

__Draco smiles. "Tell Rose I knew," he says._ _

__Harry looks at him. "You knew they were both serious about each other and didn't tell me?"_ _

__"Not my fault you're thick," Draco replies, taking the second-last éclair from the lunch spread and tossing the last to Ron._ _

__"D'ye think he might be thicker than me?" Ron asks, trying very hard to keep his face straight._ _

__"It's close," Draco concedes. "But when it comes to people, yes, he may just be."_ _

__"I can't believe I feed you two …" Harry mutters._ _

__"You love us," Ron tells him, around a large bite of cake._ _

__"You do," Draco agrees. "You think we're great. We make you look good at work, and because he's so ginger and I'm so pale, it adds to your whole dark brooding effect. If you stopped talking to us, you'd immediately seem less interesting."_ _

__Draco is pleased to see that Ron is nodding as earnestly at Harry as he is. The sight of their combined alleged sincerity is too much for Harry. He walks out of the sunroom in search of cold butterbeers, so they chat in his absence._ _

__"How's your mum coping?" Draco asks. "It's still a Malfoy and one of her precious grandkids."_ _

__"Haven't mentioned it to her, yet. She didn't seem too fussed about Scorp going out with Rose – at least not after her first bout of apoplexy – but then we hardly saw him for most of that time, due to your lot being under protection, and when we did he always treated her so delicately."_ _

__Draco smiles knowingly. "That's how you worked it out, isn't it?"_ _

__Ron grins at him. "That and Hermione spending a week saying 'Rose and Scorpius. Are you sure? Not James? Not Scorp and Al?'"_ _

__Draco laughs. "She can't have been any more startled than he was, I think. Your daughter is a force to be reckoned with." He and Ron exchange smiles. "I was a little sad when they broke up," Draco confesses. "I hope she still comes to visit the Manor, she's clever and witty."_ _

__"She is indeed. But she gets her Quidditch skills from me." Ron knows a good straight line when he is fed it._ _

__Harry returns and hands out chilled bottles. "I don't know why I am doomed to have such appalling friends," he sighs._ _

__"Neville's nice," Ron reassures him._ _

__"So's Dean, don't forget Dean," Draco adds._ _

__"I plan to Owl them immediately the two of you leave and arrange to have you replaced," Harry vows, attempting to look serious._ _

__Ron shakes his head. "Won't work. Dean's darker and handsomer than you, and Neville is a bigger hit with the ladies."_ _

__"There's a terrifying thought …" Draco is finding it very hard not to laugh again._ _

__Harry gives up. "I'll have to keep you both on, clearly no one else would put up with you."_ _

__"You're soft, Potter," Draco says. "At the very least you should consider Imperiusing us so that we're nicer."_ _

__"Alas, not enough magic in all the world for that …" Harry sighs._ _

__"Too true," Ron agrees, and stands, stretching out his long legs. "And on that note, I'm headed home to reassure my beloved daughter that she can stop her plans for a sensitive wizards refuge in the garden. Harry, Draco, say goodnight to the boys for me, I'll send your other horrors home in the morning." He addresses this last to Harry._ _

__"Bugger that, I'll send Al and Scorpius over, you and Hermione should come and hide here." Both men exchange grins at the prospect of teenager-free homes._ _

__"They could all come and stay at the Manor for a week," Draco offers. "It's big enough to house an army and we have house-elves, who, you can assure your lovely wife, are all paid at union rates and with conditions."_ _

__Ron and Harry exchange a quick look. "That'd be great, Draco, cheers. We could do with some adult time, and Harry could hang around and practise brooding and looking enigmatic."_ _

__"Ignore him," Harry says quickly. "He's been reading The Quibbler again."_ _

__"Britain's Sexiest Wizard yet again, what lies in store for the single saviour?" Ron quotes._ _

__Harry looks pained. "I'd say wait till Luna gets back, but I'm starting to think that this is her idea of an elaborate joke."_ _

__Draco grins. "I think it started that way, then she saw the increased circulation figures. It's your own fault, for as long as you prat about in knee-high leather boots and tight trousers, photo spreads of you will sell."_ _

__Ron indicates his own Auror-standard apparel with a look of disbelief. "Tell me, in all seriousness, how they can be weak at the knees over Stumpy McScarface there, while ignoring the perfection that is?"_ _

__Draco nods soberly. "I know, Ron, it beggars belief. If it's any consolation, I think hoi polloi are terrified of your wife."_ _

__Ron laughs. "As well they ought to be. And I am really going home to her, right now. See you soon, I'll let you know about the kids on Monday, yeah? I'll sort it with Hermione and Mum."_ _

__"Sounds good, bye."_ _

__Harry walks with Ron outside, where they exchange goodbyes before Ron Apparates away. Draco is always amused to see how Ron hunches just that little bit so his height advantage over Harry -- and over Draco, too, if truth be told -- is minimised. For a moment Draco imagines the look on his mother's face when he mentions to her that he has invited the whole Potter-Weasley clan, then he consoles himself with the knowledge that she can always escape to one of her many friends' homes, probably taking Helene with her. Draco considers that as long he pays Lily Potter well, she should be able to control the worst of it._ _

__The afternoon sun fills Harry's black hair with red as he turns to come back inside. Draco frowns as he realises that he is, again, thinking things like this, and forces himself to recall last week's Quidditch scores. Because it would not end well. And he doesn't think Luna Lovegood likes him that much._ _

__Harry grins at him as he walks back in the door. "Another thing," he says, as though Ron had never interrupted. "When you were blown up, you called out my name. Despite the fact you know I'm useless at healing charms. I heard you. And it led me to suspect in a vaguely optimistic fashion ..."_ _

__"That I wanted my last words to be 'Harry, you bloody idiot, I thought you were on top of the protection part of this plan'? Yes, quite right, I did." Draco's grin is back._ _

__"You're no help," Harry shakes his head. "And no fun."_ _

__"I'm going home," Draco tells him. "Before you propose and I have to stop your son from dying of parental embarrassment."_ _

__"It'll toughen him up." Harry's tone is as light as Draco's, but his eyes are hopeful._ _

__Draco reaches up and pushes Harry's hair back from his face, shaking his head gently. "It's a bad idea. Albus may actually kill us, and I think he and Scorpius were both planning on having fathers who were focused on them this summer. Besides, when you cast me aside, I'll have to compete with Ginny for Luna Lovegood's attentions, and at least one of them would hex me."_ _

__"So that's a no." Harry's smile doesn't fade._ _

__"It's a no," Draco agrees._ _

__"Fine, back to pub lunches, death-defying adventures and the odd Quidditch game. And we should definitely organise for you to take all the kids, because it's ridiculous that they only visit you for cake. You should have to scream at them to go to bed and shut up, too."_ _

__Draco smiles at Harry. "And this is the other reason. I want to believe that you've really been my friend for these five years, and not that you were just trying to get into my pants. I want to believe that you want me to tell your kids to shut up and come round to water your flowers when you're on holidays. Because while we both have a natural genius for the death-defying dramas, I want to believe that we both honestly think it's worth working hard to just be each other's friend."_ _

__"Never doubt that," Harry answers, all seriousness._ _

__"I have to go."_ _

__"Yep."_ _

__Draco touches Harry's hand lightly as he walks past him, and keeps walking into the garden, not looking back._ _

__

____

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

__

__It is late in the evening when Harry's owl appears. Draco is sitting out on his balcony with what he would tell anyone is a glass of finest brandy, but is actually a mug of cocoa because he likes the taste._ _

__He is smiling at his recollection of Helene's greeting when he arrived home this afternoon. Kissing his cheek fondly she had nodded at Narcissa. "She knows. I, of course, already knew, and we both know that you know. Did they tell Harry?" She had been happy when he had filled her in on parts of the afternoon's events -- but not all of them, because although he strongly suspected that _she_ suspected, he was not prepared to indulge Helene's belief in her own omniscience._ _

__And now there is that owl. Tawny and large, it drops a parcel into Draco's lap and then sits on the balcony railing, waiting._ _

__Draco blinks. There is a folded sheet of parchment under the string tied around the parcel. He opens it, and is not surprised to see Harry's handwriting._ _

___I was planning to give you this when I saw you at the station, then over lunch, but the moment never really seemed appropriate. Happy Birthday, D, I know it's late again, but I'm useless with dates. All the best, H._ _ _

__Laughing quietly to himself, Draco unwraps his present. It is a paper knife, silver, with a finely wrought handle in which an M twines amid foliate fripperies. Solidly Muggle and a wholly lovely thing. A strip of parchment is tucked into the bottom of the box._ _

___\-- I do have excellent taste._ _ _

__Laughing more, Draco shakes his head. He steps back into his room and quickly dashes off a note._ _

___Excellent taste, appalling timing. Thank you, it's a marvellous gift. See you Monday._ _ _

__He takes a handful of nuts out to Harry's owl, and is still laughing long after it has flown off with his message._ _

__

____

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

__

___Monday begins with Draco running late for work, clutching the handful of Owls that have arrived over the weekend. Ginny Weasley, giving in to the Owled pleas of her three children, is staying on North Rona to investigate rumours of magical puffins with Luna. Her letter is full of lists:  
 _Do buy in fish fingers for Lily.__  
Do see if you can convince them to do something cultural, even if it's the cinema.  
Do convince James that vegetables won't kill him.  
Do convince Rose that sleeping with James might see her father kill him.  
Do keep an eye on Lily and make sure she doesn't kill anyone.  
Do believe Albus's version if they all give different stories.  
Don't feel you need to fill me in on the specifics of any of the relationship details of the older four. I'm very happy for them but am frantically picturing them all as eleven and twelve year olds.  
Don't listen to James or Lily when they tell you we regularly eat caviar and pheasant. Or drink vintage wine.  
Don't mention your father.  
Don't start any international incidents.  
Don't forget that I'll hex you even if Harry won't.  
Thanks very much, see you in ten days! 

__Hermione Granger-Weasley's Owl is much shorter:  
 _Just make sure they both come back in the same condition they arrive.__ _

__Harry's four Owls are a list of every food his children eat, then a list of every food they don't eat, an exhaustive list of things they've packed to bring, and then a note apologising for hovering and asking Draco if he's reconsidered the possibility of more snogging._ _

__Ron's says:  
 _See you at three. Cheers, R.__ _

__Draco is growing to like Ron a great deal._ _

__The morning is spent terrifying as many underlings as possible since Draco plans to take much of the next week off. By eleven o'clock he has rejected three proposals and sent two trainees scurrying; he suspects one may now be hiding in the toilets._ _

__Harry Potter appears at his office door, knocking on the jamb._ _

__Draco looks up at him. "Is this work or chatting?"_ _

__Harry wears a look of hurt innocence. "Work, of course. Do you have five minutes?"_ _

__"Come in." Draco refuses to acknowledge the manic grin of wickedness that Harry plasters over his face as he closes the door._ _

__Harry sits down. "Anything on your scans?"_ _

__"Why do you ask?"_ _

__"I have a source who says he's been hearing noises about an imminent attack. No details, no real information, but he says it's persistent gossip."_ _

__Draco thinks carefully. "No, not as of twenty minutes ago, but if you can wait ten minutes I can check you out."_ _

__For the very briefest of seconds he hopes that Harry didn't hear that. Harry's explosion of laughter removes any doubt._ _

__Draco shakes his head. "Check it out. IT." He rolls his eyes and threatens Harry with his diary._ _

__Harry laughs even harder. He manages to gasp out, between laughs: "I've decided that airborne stationery is your idea of flirting."_ _

__Draco drops his head onto the desk for a moment and wonders if anyone would notice that the head of Magical Law Enforcement had been turned into a hatstand._ _

__"Where are you going?" Harry asks as Draco stands quickly and moves towards the door._ _

__"To see if there's anything on the scanners."_ _

__"But we were having a conversation!" Harry chuckles as Draco opens the door._ _

__"It was doomed from the start," Draco says, loudly enough to be heard as he strides through his assistant's office without looking back._ _

__He is halfway to the Room of Futures by the time Harry catches up with him. Draco is relieved that it takes Harry this long, since he has only just wiped the grin from his own face. He knows it's ridiculous, but that doesn't stop it being funny._ _

__They walk in silence until Draco opens the door to the room and ushers Harry in ahead of him. Thirty Unspeakables are bowed over sundry scrying devices. In the far corner of the barn-sized room is a small area that is surrounded by glowing wards. Two witches and four wizards are frantically working over small silver objects there._ _

__"What's that?" Harry nods his head over in the direction of the warded area._ _

__Draco's smile is slightly smug. "We warded that area against magic. They're keeping an eye on all the Muggle sources."_ _

__"Computers?" Harry is astonished. "You warded against magic? That's both brilliant and crazed."_ _

__Draco nods happily. "It was Fotherington's idea, although I did the spellwork. He had to leave his laptop at home when he went to Hogwarts and he never got over it."_ _

__All thirty-six Unspeakables are staring at them expectantly. Draco smiles at them approvingly. "Anything astray? Potter says there are rumours afoot."_ _

__Thirty-five of them shake their heads, but one tall and pale wizard from behind the wards looks at him with a frown. "I don't know if it's really important," he says. "But the weather is odder than usual."_ _

__Draco waves him over. "Potter, meet Fotherington, our Muggle tech specialist. Fotherington, this is Harry Potter, Head of MLE." Harry nods and smiles at the young man._ _

__Fotherington looks at Draco as though he is having a senior moment. "Yes, sir, I know. There are portraits."_ _

__Draco ignores Harry's sudden coughing. "Tell us about this odd weather. Is it the Gulf Stream?"_ _

__Fotherington's frown deepens. "I can't really say, sir. Despite our best efforts and the Muggles' best models, the climate is all gone to hell these days. There's a cyclone in South Australia that came out of nowhere, and the tides around Greenland are completely erratic. The Muggles are tying it all into the Gulf Stream's temperature changes, and they could well be right. But it's astray, as you say."_ _

__"Good work. Keep an eye on it and see if a pattern develops. If you need to borrow anyone, feel free. All of you, eyes peeled, let me know sooner rather than later if you see anything that could be something."_ _

__Draco and Harry leave together. Once the door closes, Harry lets the laughter he has been holding in out, though quietly. Draco takes him by the elbow and drags him down the hallway. "Hush," he says. "Fotherington does a good job even if his mind and body inhabit different spheres."_ _

__"I'm laughing at you, too," Harry informs him. "Anything that could be something is now my new motto."_ _

__"Harry, that's been your motto for years," Draco says with a smile._ _

__They reach the circular room and wait while the doors spin about. Unerringly, Draco selects the door that leads to the lifts and walks Harry through. "I'll let you know if I hear anything more. Are you bringing the kids over this afternoon? I should be home by half-past two."_ _

__Harry shakes his head apologetically. "Too much on at the moment. Ron will bring them all. You still on for lunch?"_ _

__"I'll pop in, have Ron order me something, he remembers what I like."_ _

__"Will do," Harry answers as the lift doors open and he steps in. "Keep up the checking." He winks._ _

__"Go." Draco waits until the lift doors close before he adds an affectionate, "You goose."_ _

__

____

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Draco is right about lunch, it's a hurried affair and only the fact that Ron has ordered food for him that is on the table when he gets there sees him eat anything at all. By two thirty-five he has cleared his desk, set Unspeakables to work on three new projects and made an apprentice curse-breaker cry. He makes a brief note in his diary to raise the curse-breaker's salary if he has the balls to stay on after today.

At three on the dot, he is at the inner gates to Malfoy Manor, welcoming his guests. To his surprise, Hermione is there with Ron. Hugo and Lily are each clutching an adult, having Apparated side-along, Scorpius appears holding Albus's arm, and James appears with Rose.

Hermione hands Hugo a satchel. "You can carry the luggage, since most of it's yours," she tells him.

"Hello Hermione, hello Ron," Draco greets his guests. "Hello terrible children come to eat me out of house and home."

Scorpius hugs him. "Hi, Dad."

Draco kisses his forehead. "Hello, Son." He smiles at the others. "Come in, my mother has been assembling miniature cakehenges all afternoon, I hear."

With a chorus of "HelloMrMalfoythanks" the six children stampede towards the house. Draco, Ron and Hermione follow at a more dignified pace.

Draco clears his throat, not wholly sure of himself. "It's good to see you," he addresses Hermione. "I could never quite work out how to invite you …"

She smiles crookedly. "Ron tells me you've redecorated."

Ron puts his arm around her shoulders. "I tell her that she cannot continue to avoid social visits with her daughter's best friend's family. Even if they're Malfoys who insist on owning bloody peacocks. Seriously, Draco, those birds are evil." To prove his point, a peahen runs across their path shrieking like the possessed.

Even Hermione starts to laugh at that.

"Come on, love, you thought it was a good idea when I told you about Narcissa's tea collection," Ron reminds her.

Draco smiles supportively. "I won't take it personally if you'd rather just go home."

Ron goes on talking. "Nah, it took too much effort to actually get here on time. It was a close run thing, and I was starting to wonder if even Hermione's shrinking charms could deal with the amount of rubbish five teenagers need to live for a week. I checked on Hugo last night and I suspect he is planning on making a bid for adoption since he has packed nearly everything he owns."

"Adoption?" Draco can't help smiling.

"Well, every time he's ever been to the Manor before, it has involved birthdays or cake. It may be that Scorp and Al have slightly over-emphasised the glamour of your home life."

"Oh, the indoor pool and cinema are real," Draco says airily. "But they made up the professional Quidditch Pitch, the fun pier over the lake and the Honeydukes shop."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "That's right," she says in mock revelation. "We hated you at school because you were appalling."

"That's _right_ ," Draco agrees. "Years before you met my mad and unlamented aunt. Come on, he's not exaggerating about the tea."

Hermione squares her shoulders and resumes walking. Draco and Ron exchange small smiles over her head.

As the Granger-Weasleys walk inside ahead of him, Draco watches the tall Auror's hand caress his wife's shoulder, and sees how she leans slightly against him. For a moment he feels a slight tightness in his chest, which is obviously a sign of an impending cold.

"Straight ahead, we're out in the conservatory, all the way to the end of this hall, yes, that door," Draco guides from the back. He sees Hermione's hand hesitate for just a second at the doorknob, and he realises why as she pushes it open.

His mother is on her feet, the children behind her acquiring platefuls of cake. She sees Hermione, and her face pales. She steps towards her, one hand extended, shaking slightly. "Oh my dear," she says. "I am so sorry ..."

Hermione steps forward, away from Ron, and takes the older woman in her arms. "It's all right," she says. "You saved Harry."

"I couldn't save you," Narcissa says sadly. They hold each other.

Draco leans against the doorjamb. Ron looks back at him. "I forgot," Draco tells him. "I forgot they hadn't seen each other since that night."

"It's why she wanted to come," Ron says. "She's brave that way."

The tightness is back in Draco's chest. Ron pats him on the shoulder. "It's OK mate, she makes everyone feel like that."

"She's ..."

"Yeah," Ron smiles proudly. "Yeah, she is."

Narcissa kisses Hermione's cheek. "Thank you for coming, I've wanted to see you for such a long time, but had no idea what to say."

Hermione smiles, and Draco is reminded again where Rose's looks come from. "I've wanted to talk to you, too," she says. "My daughter thinks you're wonderful. And after watching your career for the last twenty years, I think she may be right."

Narcissa's laugh is a rich trill. "Oh, jaunts abroad with friends hardly constitutes a career, dear ..."

Hermione grins conspiratorially. "Is the American Muggle liaison officer really writing a script for a Hollywood film?"

Narcissa takes her arm and leads her across to the cake table, whispering animatedly.

Draco is slightly embarrassed by the moisture that has sprung to his eyes. Ron, being a genuine friend, pretends he can't see it. "You should come to Christmas dinner with us," he says.

"Yes," Draco agrees. "And then we can pop over to the Middle East and solve the Muggles' ongoing crises for them."

"No, seriously," says Ron. "It'd be good. Besides, we have girls who Charlie's been going out with for three weeks come to Christmas. Scorp's Albus's boyfriend and Rose's best friend and Lily's conscience. It's only right that you be there."

Draco's eyes begin to dance merrily, he can feel a laugh bubbling up inside.

"What?" Ron asks, catching his amusement.

"I'm just imagining our mothers at Christmas dinner," Draco says. "'How do you do? I'm Molly Weasley. I believe your husband tortured my daughter.' 'So pleased to meet you properly at last. Narcissa Malfoy, I believe you killed my sister.'"

Draco's whispered impressions see Ron reduced to peals of silent laughter. "It's worse than that," he manages between gasps for air. "Andromeda and Teddy are usually there, too."

"Oh good." Draco bows his head against the door. He looks up brightly. "Let's your family and mine kidnap Al and run off to Monte Carlo instead. Healthy walks and lovely sea air."

Ron laughs. "It'll be fine. We'll just go to our place or come here. Mum's too polite to make a huge fuss in someone else's home. Besides, Dad likes you."

"And I like your father, even if I know his affection for me is based on a lifelong desire to see the Malfoy Dark Artefact collection."

Ron looks interested. "Oooh, is there really some left?"

Draco laughs. "Yes, and you should bring Arthur over one afternoon. We destroyed the worst of it, but left some ingenious curses intact."

"Cheers, that'd be great," Ron says enthusiastically.

"You're a strange man, Ron," Draco tells him.

"It's the company I keep," Ron replies. "Are those custard slices? We should visit more often."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Hours later the children are watching their third Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes film. Helene has joined the adults and they are now onto the vintage wine and petit fours. Ron is holding forth on the dangers of Aurordom, but tactfully. Tales of Muggle-baiting and smuggling abound, political topics are skirted around. Draco is grateful again.

"And there was Harry, trying to convince the Muggle to back away from the cursed wallet, but the bloke didn't speak any English, so I was all ready to immobilise him when Harry tries French and the bloke is all 'Parlez Francais?' and Harry's 'Bien sur ...' and the next thing I know they're chatting each other up and the Harry's giving him a fake name and contact details while frantically gesturing for me to decurse the wallet ..."

"Harry speaks French? Where did he learn?" Helene asks.

"Harry was chatting him up?" Draco asks.

Ron, several drinks down, seems to decide that Helene's is the easier question. "He was there for three months after the War."

The sudden silence at the table isn't needed to tell him he chose the wrong one.

Narcissa and Draco both wear the same patient, questioning look.

"Balls," says Ron.

"He was there for three months because of testicles?" asks Narcissa. "That really should have made the news."

Draco smiles at his mother's humour. But he can see Hermione's hand tighten on Ron's shoulder. He wonders if it is an encouragement.

Apparently it is. "He thought it was inappropriate that you were all exiled without trial. He went to check that you were all right, and to talk to the French Ministry about lodging an appeal." Ron shakes his head. "He is going to kill me when he finds out I told you."

"I always wondered who started that process," Narcissa muses. "I thought it was my cousin."

"I thought it was you," Draco tells her. "Father was locked in his study every day, I thought you began the appeal for a project."

"Goodness no," Narcissa laughs. "I spent that summer gardening. I don't think I lifted a wand or a quill. It was strangely lovely." She smiles benignly at Ron, then winks. "We won't let on. We know Harry well now. He can't help himself."

"I wish he'd told us sooner," Hermione says suddenly. "About you, I mean. You and Voldemort."

Narcissa waves her hand. "I think that he must have found it very hard to know what to say. It's not as though we were blameless. If my husband had not been so blinded, it is possible that Voldemort would not have been so successful. It may have even been that his first grab for power could have been stopped before so many died, including Harry's parents." Narcissa's face is quite serious now. "If I had had more courage, if my husband had had more sense, we could have stopped a lot of evil, and maybe even been successful with some of the things that he believed in that were worthwhile, such as a strong wizarding community, and good international relations."

Hermione takes her hand across the table. "You cannot hold yourself responsible," she says.

"Oh my dear," Narcissa smiles gently, "of course I can. My husband listened to me. If I had been less of a fool I could have saved him. And you … and you …"

Hermione rises to her feet and moves swiftly around the table to hug Narcissa. "It's all right," she says. "It was so long ago."

Helene conjures delicate handkerchiefs, which she passes to her mother-in-law and friend.

Draco exchanges a look with Ron. It took the two of them some twenty years to cover the territory that these two have managed in six hours.

Ron grins at him. "Women."

"And their grace," Draco adds.

"Their practicality," Helene corrects him. "We are always putting things back together after you men take them apart, because otherwise they would stay broken."

"We never mention his name," Draco reminds her in a soft voice, for only the three of them.

"We fix what we can," she answers similarly, patting his hand.

Ron raises his wineglass. "To repairs," he toasts. The others lift their glasses.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Hermione is in Draco's office when Harry appears there the next morning. At the sight of her, he seems slightly embarrassed at the door-throwing, leather-coat-snapping and hair-streaming striding entrance he has just made. Draco hides his smile quickly.

"Morning," Harry announces. "How are you both?" He flops down in the office's remaining chair.

"Fragile," Hermione admits, gesturing at the remains of coffee and hangover potion on Draco's desk. "I went along with Ron yesterday, and we didn't end up going home till about four this morning."

Harry's eyebrows raise. "What, you were all at the Manor?"

"Yeah, Narcissa had a spread laid on when we got there," Hermione explains blithely. "And then there was dinner, and then there was wine, and then there was an epic scene of forgiveness and reconciliation, which, of course, led to more wine, and then we had to wait until we'd sobered up enough to Apparate and if you think I look shabby, you should see Ron."

"Draco looks fine." Harry's lips pout slightly.

"Draco is on his fifth coffee and has at least three spells counteracting the dark circles that threaten to engulf his eyes," Draco admits, much as it pains him. He has a suspicion.

"So you had a great night then?" Harry asks.

"Surprisingly, yeah," Hermione says with a smile.

"And no one thought to invite me?"

Inside, Draco does the gleeful dance of complete rightness.

"You were busy with work," he says, his exterior a carefully schooled model of propriety.

Harry blinks. "Yes. Yes I was. And I am here on work. Of course. Anything out of the usual today?"

Draco lifts a few sheets of parchment off his desk. "I was actually going to see you once Hermione and I had finished here. There are scanner alerts all over the place, but they're amorphous. The only concretely directional reading I can find points to the south coast of Sweden. I've alerted them to be on the lookout, but I can't tie things down to any location closer."

"So we have Swede-hating criminals. Great. I'll turn our investigations towards herring and Eurovision entrants."

Draco throws a stick of sealing wax at Harry's head. Harry snatches it from the air and grins fondly. Draco groans, and ignores Hermione's confused expression. "What I am trying to tell you is that your sources are right and there is something big on the way, we just can't tell where or when yet."

Harry nods. "All right. Update me if anything becomes clearer. How's your Muggle-tech boy doing, has he found anything?"

"Not as such, I have a memo from him saying that he'll be spending the morning out of the office chasing up multiple leads, which may be Fotherington for 'I have a cunning plan and am even now pulling together the finer details' or may actually mean 'I was in the office working till three-thirty this morning and plan to have a lie-in.'"

Hermione is looking at him with amusement. "Muggle-tech?" she asks.

"It's ever so sweet," he replies in a voice dripping condescension. When she has rolled her eyes enough for his taste he admits: "Muggles need to be inventive because they don't have magic. And while most of what they put on those computers is rubbish, there are many good things, too. Fotherington and his team understand it all, I trust them to sort it for me. All those cameras and satellites must be good for something."

"Nice to hear you admit it," she says, grinning. "And thanks for the breakfast. I should face the morning's horrors myself now. My belief that they can legislate without me is not wholly borne out by evidence."

Harry stands up, too. "I'll see you up." He tosses the sealing wax back to Draco. "And you should definitely invite me around to dinner some time if you're going to feed all my friends."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh Harry, it was hardly all your friends, I've never fed Longbottom so much as a cake."

Hermione sniffs. "I swear I'm still drunk, either that or you two are flirting. Tell Narcissa that she has ruined me today."

Slightly guiltily, Draco _Accios_ a fresh cup of coffee and presses it into Hermione's hands as he escorts her to the door. "I'll have your office find you some nice greasy bacon and eggs. I'll tell them it's women's problems so they know not to pry."

"I will have to kill you the minute I feel better," Hermione warns him.

"Don't do that," Draco jokes, walking them down the long corridor. "Mother's just put you and Ron on the guest list for her seventieth, and it will be a great party. Kill me afterwards."

"She has to tell me what she's using on her face, I'm serious."

Draco laughs. "I'll snaffle some for you. I've been snaffling some for me for years."

"And here I was thinking there was a very unappealling portrait somewhere," Harry mutters.

"Well," Draco concedes. "That, too."

They walk into the circular room and wait for the doors to stop spinning. Draco calls the lift for them. "See you both soon," he says, holding the door for them to walk in.

"I want my dinner," Harry reminds him as the doors close. 

Draco shakes his head in amusement. It is, he reflects, a very good thing that Hermione Granger-Weasley is not herself this morning. He hopes that her memory will be too full of larger things to start replaying small details for her later in the day.

In fact, it is his own mind that latches onto details as the day progresses. Fotherington appears around lunch. He has a case full of satellite images of clouds and sea currents and is clearly frustrated. "It's something to do with the weather, sir," he says. "It's not right, not even for the current always not rightness."

Draco presses for details and Fotherington mutters about collating data and developing models. For the second time that day, Draco calls up a large pot of coffee from the kitchens and sends his brilliant young eccentric away with both it and orders to report regularly.

At three, he is upstairs chatting with Ron when one of Weasley's junior Aurors runs up to them. "Bust down at Tilbury, sir, Dark Magic users on one of the barges. It's big, Fawcett and Radford are there already, they've asked for back-up."

"Take three teams. Hang on, I'll come with. Sorry Draco," he apologises, striding away.

"Go, I'll see you later," Draco calls after him.

At five, with several hours' work still ahead of him, Helene calls on the departmental Floo to tell him that she will not be able to join him and the children that night as her friend who is coming in from Oslo has been delayed by a terrible storm.

At quarter past five, Fotherington appears with a sheaf of parchment and a deep frown. "There's something happening with water temperatures, Sir, and the Met Office have begun forecasting a storm surge. We're still getting the erratic readings on the scans, I'm sorry, sir, I'm just not …"

Draco stands up suddenly. "There are Aurors at Tilbury …" He can feel the pieces sliding into place, one by one. "What's the weather like outside?"

"Today?" Fotherington looks at him. "It's nice. Forecast to turn ugly later on, but it's warm and pleasant."

"The Muggles all stay in town on nights like this, don't they?"

"Some, the others are all driving home or on the Tube."

Draco can feel the answer coming towards him. And there it is. He grabs Fotherington's arm. "Find everyone. Everyone. If they've gone home, bring them back. Meet me upstairs in the Aurors' offices in ten minutes, hurry!"

Draco takes off at a run. He pauses only for the time it takes the lift to reach level two, and then he is running again, down the long corridor, past a surprised Ron, freshly back from the Tilbury operation, straight to Harry's offices, and long before he reaches them he is shouting: "Harry! You're needed! It's the Barrier! Potter! Now!"

Harry appears at the run. "Draco – what's going on?"

Draco grabs Harry's arms, insistent. "Storm surge coming, up the Thames, the Tilbury bust is a trap, they're at the Barrier, they're going to hold the Barrier open."

Harry looks at him for a long moment. "Shit," he says quietly. Draco can all but see his mind working behind those eyes. Three seconds later he looks up at the Aurors who have come out into the corridor at Draco's shouts. "Right. Everyone's on duty. Warn the team at Tilbury, get them up to the Barrier Park. We need brooms, we need concealment charms, we need curse-breakers."

"I have my team coming up, we have curse-breakers and we can erect a disillusionment field," Draco says swiftly. "How many brooms do you have? We'll need to have some of our people in the air to keep the field operating."

"We've fifteen. We'll need a dozen to take them from above; it's safer than Apparating to a spot they already occupy. Do you think they're still there? What if they've set up a series of destructive charms?"

Draco shakes his head. "They're still there. The Barrier control constantly monitors for problems. They'd have picked up anything that was already wrong. This will be last-minute. This will be done on the spot."

There are footsteps running down the corridor. It is Fortherington and the team from the Room of Futures. "The others will be here soon," he announces. Draco notes that he has his computer tucked under his arm. "I raised forty of them. Six curse-breakers. I was right, there is a surge, and it's moving faster than it should."

"How long do we have?" Harry asks the question at the same time as Draco.

"Forty-five minutes, maybe fifty."

"We need to move," Harry announces. "Draco, can you take your team to Thames Barrier Control? Ron, you join with the Tilbury set on the other shore, take four of the brooms, I'll need you to come in from there when we hit. Abbott, you're with Draco. Get them to wherever they're needed, keep them safe. Put your best four in the air, I want them ready to attack from the south. I'll sweep in from upriver with my team. Draco, I can spare your people three brooms. Will that be enough?"

"There are six gates, should do."

"Right. Those on the ground protect the Unspeakables. Concealment is half the mission."

The lift doors can be heard in the distance, forty sets of feet are running towards them. The rest of Draco's Unspeakables arrive. He speaks quickly: "Thames Barrier, we think there's a team using dark magic to hold it open. Storm surge is coming, a big one. I want all of you from the Time Room down at Woolwich. Do what you can to stretch out the time we have. Prophecy team with Ron at the park, the rest of you are with me."

Harry, Ron and Draco exchange looks. The plan is sketchy and will have to come together on the fly, but it is what they have. They nod. "Go. Wait for my signal to move in," Harry announces.

Draco is already moving when Harry calls his name. He turns back in time to catch the Firebolt that is being thrown at him. He looks at it carefully. "This is your best broom," he says, smiling.

Harry doesn't look to see who else is still there before taking his hand. "Just stay safe. This is going to be a bad one."

"I will. You too." Draco is too surprised to do anything more than answer honestly, and squeeze the hand around his. He wheels about and strides towards his Unspeakables. "We get it right, or we doom thousands. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" comes the answer in chorus.

"Good," Draco barks. "Let's go."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o


	2. Chapter 2

Draco's team put their Disillusionment Charms in place before Apparating to the carpark beside the Thames Barrier Control building. In the afternoon sun, anyone who is looking will see just another heat haze off the tarmac as the individual charms merge to form a field. There are thirty-one of them in addition to the nine Aurors; their ten time specialists are down past the ferry. Draco hopes that they can slow the next forty minutes enough to make the difference they will need.

He looks at the river. The six large gates will be the targets; it's the only logical plan. The smaller gates wouldn't cause the immediate catastrophe that his readings predict. And there, on the nearest steel shell, he spots a wavering of the light that must be a concealed figure. In four minutes the Aurors will move – he needs to deploy now.

“Fotherington, take Madden, Wright and Eccleston, I want you inside and on their systems. Tell them you're from … whoever it is who does the computer things.”

“Environment Agency's engineering management, sir,” Fotherington supplies the name without sarcasm. “But sir, we'll be closing the gates too late, it's at the wrong part of the tide …” Fotherington holds up his hand to forestall the protest he can see beginning on Draco's lips. “We'll still stop the surge, but we'll set up a wave that will be dangerous. You need to leave some people free to quell it. The waters by the Barrier will be pretty turbulent no matter what, but there's nothing on the water here, so that should be all right.”

“Good thinking. Abbott? Who are your best two at environmental charms?”

The Auror thinks for a moment. “Leamington and Entwhistle, you're Malfoy's.”

“Cheers. You two, over here. Speke, Keily and MacDonald, you work with them. I want it calm, I want it quiet. I want a five-year-old child in a toy rowboat to not notice the difference.”

“A five year old? On the river?”

“Shut up, Keily. I know you can do it.” Draco strides towards his remaining troops. “You six, north bank, I want you in the park so that Weasley is covered with Disillusionment from behind. Peters, you're on communications. Watch everything, alert as needed. Stanersley, you do the same from this side, you five will manage the Disillusionment Field. Right, curse-breakers, I need two of you in the air with me, and one inside with Fotherington. Who's your best tech person?”

A small witch raises her hand. “Johnson, sir.”

“Take care of her, Fotherington. Who does that leave? Jessup. You wait with Stanersley and fill any gaps if we fall. You three, you're on brooms with us – let the curse-breakers concentrate on the flying while you set up the field, then drop us on the gate shells, we can Apparate between them. Abbott, your Aurors will need to be protecting us at the same time as attacking, can you manage it?”

“With ease,” she replies, grimly.

Draco turns to the remaining Unspeakables and Aurors. “You three,” he motions to the curse-breakers. “Team up with the Blackcoats. You're our reserve. I want you ready to move anywhere at a moment's notice. Listen to Jessup, he'll call you in if he sees a need, otherwise you respond to me or Fotherington. And if you have to choose, go to Fotherington, he'll only call if it's the operation on the line. That leaves you, Delacroix, you're monitoring all communications, we're counting on you to make sure nothing vital is missed.” Draco's voice rings out: “Are we all clear? Are we all understood?”

“Understood, sir!” comes the chorus of replies.

Abbott looks at him with a small smile. “Impressive,” she admits.

“On your broom,” he replies, grinning. “Boothby, you're with me. Ready? Go!”

In a co-ordinated wave they spread out, Apparating, running, flying into position. The disillusionment field cast is from new charms, and, as it is designed to, it reveals the shimmering figures that have previously been hiding in the areas it now covers. Draco, low to his broom, with the wind beginning to whip at his hair, is close enough to hear Abbott's mutter of “Balls” as she sees the numbers of their opponents. There are eighteen in the air. Another six on the gates. Draco wonders what idiotic name this set will be going under. In the last three years he has heard far worse than Magical Action.

The nearest wizard aims a Stunner at him and Draco wheels his broom left to avoid it. He can see the Aurors flying in from the park side – Ron's hair unmissable. And that streak of black flying wildly through the sky from the east and aiming hexes at his opponents – Draco doesn't even need to think to know who that is.

And that little part of him that has learned to love the practical side of his work is laughing with glee.

Abbott smacks the nearest Dark wizard with a Body Bind, and he falls stiffly to the concrete pier.

“Thanks,” Draco shouts at her. He scans the gate for signs of tampering, and there it is, a small Shield Charm on the electronics, not enough to move anything out of place, just enough to stop signals moving through. “Boothby, take over, I'm going down,” he yells to the witch behind him. She takes control of the broom as he Apparates to the gate. Once there, he realises how simple the charm actually is. He touches his wand to his throat and projects his voice to the other curse-breakers. “It's just a Shield here. It's just holding the command messages out. Stay vigilant, but I think they were relying on surprise and strength rather than sophisticated spellwork.”

With that gate cleared, Draco looks to the next. His other curse-breakers are both on the Silvertown-side gates, and the fight is happening far above him. The Dark witch on the next gate is distracted, following the hexes as the fly over her. Draco Apparates to the pier below her and catches her with a Stunner. The magic on this gate is more complex; it is a shield again, but overlaid with a hex. Before he can say a word, he hears the voice of Thompson: “This gate has a security hex overlaying the original.”

“Mine, too,” Draco announces. “Amundsen?”

“No, simple shield.”

“Move on to the next gate once you're done. Thompson, take your time, get it right.” Draco speaks again: “Jessup, send one of our reserve breakers to Thompson, and another one to me.”

Draco looks closely at the spells layered onto the gate's mechanisms. Amundsen's voice chimes through to let them know that he has de-hexed his first gate and is moving on to his second. Hexes and shields are flying thick and fast in the sky above them, which provides cover for Amundsen as he Apparates to the next gate.

Bakhtin appears beside Draco. He takes a quick look at the complex spellwork. “There's a Blasting Charm worked in,” he declares.

“Can you sort it?” Draco asks. 

“Yes, but it will take me a few minutes. Go to the next one.” He manages to not quite make it sound like an order.

Draco nearly laughs. He knows that he is the least talented of the curse-breakers in his department, and that they only tolerate him because his breadth of knowledge has very occasionally taken them to solutions that their tightly focused expertise could not. “I’ll disarm the wizard, and see if I can break the spell,” he says. “Let me know if you have problems here, and broadcast your solution, it could be helpful. This one was not cast by the same person as the first one; I think they took a gate apiece for maximum complexity, but there might be a pattern.”

“They’ll have put their best people on the centremost gates,” Bakhtin yells above the noise. “Where they’ll do the most damage.”

“ _Protego!_ “ Draco leaps over him to cast a shield. The Dark wizard whose spell it blocks swings his broom about in readiness to cast another. “ _Locomotor Mortis_!” Draco adds, and, unable to steer his broom properly, their opponent careens away towards the shore. 

“Thanks,” Bakhtin says. “You’re excellent at the field work.”

Draco does laugh at that, and Apparates to the next gate. The wizard here is hiding low, under the steel shell and near the electronics that he has disabled. Draco sneaks up behind him and opts for the low-tech solution of Incarcerous. After a moment, he adds a Silencing Charm, because there is only so much time one can spend listening to “You will never defeat us!”

Bakhtin’s voice comes across on broadcast then: “Clear at this gate. I’m coming over to help you.”

Amundsen declares that his second gate is clear and offers to help with the last one. “Come over,” Draco replies. “Unless Thompson needs you.”

“I’m all but done,” Thompson assures them.

“We’re ready inside,” Fotherington’s voice can be heard by everyone. “They’d taken the computer down, but it’s back now, and we’ve sped up the transmission speeds a little. As quickly as you can, gentlemen.”

Draco steps out of the way to allow his two best men to finish the job. He looks up to where the Aurors are still securing their victory over the criminals. No shields are needed this time, no one is paying attention to what is happening below. It’s almost insulting to see how little effort the criminal mind is prepared to put in these days.

He watches Ron, who is affecting not to even see the attacker ahead, so casual … “Shit!” Draco realises his mistake a second too late. Weasley has been distracted by another attack from his left and not seen the one in front of him. The hex catches him full, and sends him spinning towards the water. Draco shouts a Hover Charm, and catches Ron and his broom in mid-air.

“RON!” 

And this is exactly what he doesn’t need. Harry is flying down fast, oblivious to everything around him, unthinking again, so of course there are three enemies closing in on him. Abbott takes one out, and Fawcett another, but the third has his wand raised … “Sorry, Ron,” Draco mutters, as he lets him fall and hurls a shield so strong that Harry’s remaining attacker is thrown back forty feet.

“Harry!” Draco screams. “You take care of them, I’ll take care of Ron!” and he points his wand at the remaining six assailants who have started to hurl Unforgiveables at the Unspeakables holding up the Field. Harry nods tersely, and joins the defence.

Draco has already kicked off his shoes and takes a short run to dive clear of the pier, casting a Bubblehead Charm as he does. The river is freezing, which is good. Ron will have been too shocked to breathe in much water. He sees him ahead and slowly sinking, and summons him with a wandflick. Ron’s fingers are still tight around his wand. Typical. Clutching the Auror, Draco kicks off for the surface. 

Ron does not draw a breath as their heads break the water. Draco Apparates them onto the nearest gate. He tips Ron upside down to clear out what water he has aspirated, then he breathes five quick lungfuls of air into his mouth. It’s enough. Ron coughs weakly and moans. 

“Amundsen, can you work out what he’s been hit with?” Draco yells, swapping places with the curse-breaker to help Bakhtin with the last of the gate de-hexing. There is only a small power-sucking Charm left to defuse before they are finished there. “Good work,” Draco tells him.

“Fotherington, close the Barrier!” Draco orders.

“Is everyone clear of the water?”

“Yes, and on safe parts of the gates.”

“Rightio, sir!”

Draco looks about to see that Harry and his team have nearly subdued the last attackers. He remembers just in time – “ _Accio_ Ron’s broom!” – before the Barrier begins to move and the water to roil. 

He turns back to the wounded Auror. “It’s serious, sir,” Amundsen tells him. “A mix of paralysing and blood thickening Curses. He’s stable, but we need to get him to St Mungo’s.”

“Go.” Draco doesn’t bother waiting for more information; seconds count. They Apparate away. 

Still holding Ron’s broom, Draco turns to Bakhtin. “Come on, I’ll fly you over,” he offers.

“Yippee, sir,” Bakhtin replies.

“If you can’t be polite, I’ll let a hex or two through next time,” Draco threatens, but he is grateful for the distraction from his worry.

Jessup is already co-ordinating the Obliviating of the Barrier staff when they land. “It was an unexpected surge and there was a freak equipment failure, but your technicians rerouted the commands before there was any real danger, using one of the system’s many built-in redundancies. Everyone worked very well.” As the various engineers and others walk away from the Ministry staff who are repeating the story, they all wear a smile of quiet pride.

Fawcett is the first of the airborne Aurors to touch down at the command post. “We’ve caught the last of them. Thanks for leaving all yours wrapped up so neatly,” he smiles at the Unspeakables.

Then Harry is there, landing a foot in front of Draco, who doesn’t wait for him to speak. “He’s alive, and he’s stable, but it’s serious cursework. Amundsen has taken him to St Mungo’s. I’ll tell the kids. Do you want me to find Hermione?”

Harry sags and Draco holds him with a hand to one shoulder. He takes a breath, and covers Draco’s hand with his own. “No, I’ll go to her first. Give me half an hour before you bring the kids, they’ll want news, and we should give the Healers time enough to have some.”

Draco nods. “Go.” He does.

Abbott is there at his side. “You did well, Malfoy,” she says. “It was good intelligence, and the operation was smart.”

“How many did we lose?”

“Two minor injuries on our side, and Ron. As for them, I think Fawcett may have seriously damaged his collar and Potter broke a few bones in the four he took down.”

“Are any of them up for questioning?” Draco rubs his eyes tiredly.

“I’ll have them down in Mysteries by the time you’re there. Usual place?”

“Usual place,” he agrees.

“My father sends his regards, by the way.”

Draco smiles at that. “How is he?”

“Yeah, good. St Mungo’s say another year and he’ll be okay to come home.”

“Wish him well from my mother and me. We want you both to visit as soon as he’s out.”

Abbott nods with a smile. “I will. And I expect pheasant.”

“Hannah, for you we’ll serve peacock,” Draco tells her with a grin.

“Sounds disgusting,” she grins back at him.

“True,” he admits, “but it’s always good to get rid of another one.”

“Sir?” That’s Fotherington.

“Yes?” Draco moves away to the quiet part of the car park the young wizard is pacing. “What’s up?’

“Um. I’d like a favour, if I could,” he says, hurriedly. “There’s this engineer who was terrific help and she’s a Muggle but she’s really nice and I was having a really good conversation with her and … and I was wondering if we could make her not really forget me?”

Draco notices the woman standing near them looking about at the robed figures with frank astonishment. “She's the engineer?” he asks.

“Alice Peters, sir,” he replies. “She's ever so smart, she was the one who helped me over-ride the codes.”

Draco looks at him sharply. He nods, understanding. He turns to Alice. Waving his wand gently at her face, he mutters the charm and follows it up with: “You have spent the evening averting a minor crisis with the help of Fotherington here – Fotherington, do you have a first name?”

“Sebastien, sir.”

“Seb Fotherington,” Draco continues, “Who you met once at a party some months ago and who you ran into by chance on a walk to clear your head just as the emergency began. Remembering his reported genius for computing and engineering, you roped him into doing some of the grunt work to help you and your team. You have agreed to have dinner with him on Saturday, but still haven't made up your mind as to whether you find him attractive or not. He’ll remain after the rest of us leave and make sure you have his contact details.”

Fotherington is looking at Draco with what may be love. “Thank you, sir,” he whispers.

“You're on your own from here,” Draco tells him and walks back to Jessup at the water’s edge. 

“Rundown,” he snaps.

“Just watch, sir,” he says, nodding out towards the river.

Draco sees it; a wall of water running up the tide, fast and raging and slapping straight into the Barrier, where it is stopped dead. The heavy shipping to the East will be bounced about, but the ferry has been warned and precautions taken. He watches the foam rise and slap against the steel, and bleakly counts the bodies that would have been caught in it as it climbs. In five minutes it has made it to four inches below the lip of the protective wall, and there it stops.

They are all watching, he realises, Muggles and Ministry staff alike. “Fuck …” says a uniformed Muggle to his left. “Good thing Peters got that working again.”

And they nod. It’s a very good thing.

Draco pushes his hair back wearily. “I need to go, can you clear things up here?”

“We’ll be out in ten.”

“Excellent, I’ll see you back at the office in an hour or so.” Draco raises his voice so everyone can hear him. “You’ve all done magnificently and I will be laying on dinner and drinks down in Mysteries. I’ll cab you all home, so don’t hold back. And I’ll have some people from Law come down for the first interviews, so you Aurors can indulge, too.”

Abbott laughs at him across the heads of their staff. “Populist,” she accuses.

“Shameless,” he admits. “I need to pick up Weasley’s children.”

She nods. “Send word of how he’s doing?”

“I’ll bring it myself once I know.”

And with that he Apparates to the Manor, and of course all six children are flying across the front park as he arrives, and it is only now that he realises that he is still wet and spattered with sundry muck. 

They see him and land, expectant and worried. 

“No deaths,” he begins with the key phrase they all learn at work. Then he turns to Rose and Hugo. “Your father is stable, but he was hurt in the op. It’s a complicated hex. They took him to St Mungo’s as soon as possible, I haven’t heard anything, but Harry asked that we meet him there.”

Their faces are serious but accepting, and inside he is furious. Another generation of children are watching death walk too close to them. He had thought they were past this.

“We’ll clean up first, give the Healers and Mum a few minutes with him,” Rose says briskly. “Can the Potters and Scorpius come, too?” Her voice wavers only slightly on the last word.

Draco quickly gathers her and her brother into a damp hug. “Of course they can. Run inside and get ready, we’ll leave in quarter of an hour.”

Rose gives a very small smile. “Come on, Hugo,” she takes his hand and walks quickly into the house.

James looks about panickedly, Draco jerks his head after Rose, and James runs to catch up with them.

“Will Uncle Ron really be all right?” Lily asks.

“I think so,” Draco replies, “but I can’t say if he will be straight away.”

“Are you all right?” Albus asks, knowing that Scorpius is dying to, but doesn’t want to seem childish.

“Fine, just wet. We had an emergency down by the river, it’s all fine now.” 

“Dad,” Scorpius’s voice is gentle. “Shower and change. We’ll sort some tea for the others.”

“You are good boys,” he tells them. “Give Lily the biscuit tin and see if she can get some sugar into Hugo and Rose.”

“They’ll want chocolate,” Lily informs him.

“Scorpius, break out some of the stash,” Draco allows.

“You have a chocolate stash? How could you not have told me that?” He can hear Lily’s voice as the children precede him into the Manor.

“If we’d told you that, we wouldn’t have a stash …” Albus’s reasoned reply fades away as they walk in ahead of him.

Draco sits on the front steps for a moment. He breathes in and out slowly.

“Dad?” Scorpius is there behind him. “Are you worried about Mr Weasley?”

Draco smiles before he looks up at him. “No, I’m not too worried about Ron, I’m certain he’ll be all right, even if it takes a little time.” And he’s telling the truth. He wasn’t thinking about Ron at all.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Hugo’s face is suspiciously pale and shiny when he and Rose come out of his room. She has packed them a small bag in case they are able to stay at St Mungo’s. Draco takes it from her and carries it, squeezing her shoulder with his other hand.

Albus and Scorpius have a basket of pasties, sandwiches and a thermos of tea, and seem to have packed enough for a short siege. Lily and James have spent the last ten minutes Owling their uncles and letting sundry family friends know the basic details, with promises of more to follow. Draco has had to use his oldest spare to Owl his catering order through to the Leaky. The three Potter children seem very prepared, and Draco realises with a sinking heart that is because they are, because they have spent their lives expecting to need composure at a moment like this.

“Ready?” he asks them. They nod, and he, Albus and James Apparate the younger four to the hospital. 

Draco has been here too many times to ever feel comfortable. He wonders if it is the architecture or the scent that causes his stomach to tighten. They are waved through by the Welcome Witch and are met at the lifts by Aurors, who take them directly to Ron’s ward. Draco’s stomach tightens further; Ron is in the Mungo Bonham Ward for Catastrophic Curses.

There are three Weasley brothers waiting with Harry in the corridor, with another three Aurors and Amundsen. The Potter children run to the Weasleys, automatically choosing one each to talk to, listen to, distract, maybe even comfort. Rose and Hugo walk straight to Harry, who gently explains that Ron is stable, that he is doing as well as anyone could hope, that his blood has been thinned, but that it will be a couple of months before he will walk properly.

Draco watches Rose. It is too painful to look at Harry’s face. Rose is nodding. “But he will walk again, won’t he?”

“He will, yes, he will,” Harry insists. 

The door to the ward swings open and there is Hermione, pale, but smiling. “Hello darlings,” she says as her children cling to her. “Daddy said he heard you.”

“He’s awake?” Hugo’s face is shining again, this time is better.

“He is, and he’s been asking for you both.” She ushers them through the door, which swings shut behind them.

Draco finally looks at Harry, who is looking at him. Draco turns to his son. “Can you keep an eye on everyone here?”

Scorpius nods. “Mr Potter looks like he needs a walk and a drink.”

Draco kisses his son’s forehead gratefully. 

“Come on.” He steps forward and takes Harry’s elbow. “I need to fill you in on the end of the op. You can fill me in on Ron before I head back to the Ministry.”

“Make sure he eats something,” George Weasley tells Draco. 

Nodding, Draco leads Harry down the hallway.

Harry walks briskly and straightly until they are out of sight of the group outside Ron’s ward. Draco takes Harry’s arm as his steps slow down. By the time they reach the toilets, Harry is leaning against him. 

“I think I’d like to throw up now,” he says.

Draco walks him in, and cleans the whole lav with a sweep of his wand. There is a rubber mat in front of the nearest loo now. “For your knees,” Draco jokes weakly.

Harry half-smiles, then dashes past him and makes use of the improved facilities. Draco conjures a glass and a face flannel, fills the former with water and wets the latter. Harry is sitting back as Draco enters the cubicle.

“Here.” Draco passes him the flannel, drops the toilet lid and flushes away the vomit. He sits down and leans against the opposite wall, passing Harry the glass of water once he seems ready for it.

“Will he really be all right?” he asks after a few minutes.

Harry nods. “Yes, but it was close.” He tilts his head back against the timber partition. 

“It’s my fault,” he says after a few breaths.

“No,” Draco disagrees. “He didn’t see his attacker in time. I didn’t, either.”

“You had a hold of him when I distracted you and you let him fall into the water,” Harry reminds him.

“The freezing cold water which would have slowed his pulse and minimised damage to his brain,” Draco counters. “In fact, you’re right, it’s my fault for choosing to save you rather than him.”

Eyes full of hurt, Harry nods.

“Shut up.” Draco kicks Harry’s hip beside his foot. “Weasley obviously wasn’t dead, he could afford to get wet. You’re the highest profile target there is, you couldn’t afford to be hit by Merlin knows what.”

“I just feel …” Harry’s voice trails off.

“Seventeen again?” Draco supplies. Harry nods. “I know. Every time we think we can relax something triggers that old fear.” 

Draco thinks for a moment before going on. “Every time I see George Weasley, I think how relieved his brother must have been when he saw it was just an ear, and then I think: what must George’s own grief have been like … Because he’d have been lulled into thinking they’d already paid their war price, wouldn’t he? Except that’s not how it works.” Draco takes a breath. “That’s why I let Ron fall, really. He’d have killed me if I let you die.”

Harry’s eyes are very tired. “I just want to have a day without fear. Just a moment to relax.”

“You stay here,” Draco tells him. “Abbott can handle things, and I can run the liaison with Legal. Besides, you have children. You will never really relax again.”

Harry snorts a laugh. “Can’t stay here, someone will need the loos soon.”

“You are hilarious.” Draco sighs. He knocks his knees sideways against Harry’s, who knocks his back.

“Do you think I should stop going out into the field?” Harry asks after another minute. “I distort things out there. I make everything less safe.”

Draco shrugs. “You do make one hell of a target,” he agrees. “But you’re also one of the best there is. Your teams love you. They go home and tell their families that they flew beside you. You make them all better Aurors, and that keeps them alive.”

“Just battered,” Harry mutters grimly.

“They lost an average of five a year before you and Ron,” Draco reminds him. “You two trained them more intelligently, made them more of a unit, demanded more cooperation from them. They were happy to give it. You never hesitate when it’s your neck, they’re the same.”

Draco looks at Harry, then knocks his knees again. “Stop it,” he says.

Harry looks up at him in surprise. “Stop what?”

“I know that look. You’re counting your casualties. I know it’s hard for you to accept this, but people were quite happy to fight both against Voldemort and against serious crime without you, you know. Something along the lines of social responsibility, if I remember rightly.”

“I just wish I could do more for them …” Harry mutters.

Draco has a ready response. “Learn some halfway decent healing spells.”

He is surprised when this makes Harry laugh. “You’ve been telling me that for nine years,” he says.

“And yet do you listen?” Draco smiles, pleased that the message has been recalled, if not acted on. “It was the first thing we talked about when we started as Departmental Liaisons, and you’re still to do the advanced course.”

“I did mandate it for all trainees,” Harry offers in his defence.

“So you’ll absorb it by osmosis, I suppose.”

Rude hand gestures are made. 

Draco’s thoughts reach a conclusion. “I think we need to develop a good field stasis charm, so that we can reduce the effects of curses until casualties can reach a Mediwizard. The water was surprisingly cold today, and I think that helped Ron; if we add a chilling charm …”

Harry is nodding. “That could work, you’d just need to balance it carefully so you don’t stress the system further.”

“Exactly, and that way your agents would be less exposed, they wouldn’t need to stop mid-op for life-threatening injuries, they could just put the injured member into stasis and come back when it’s safe.”

“I have some research funding available if you have people spare to investigate it.”

Draco grins. “I always have people spare to investigate. It’s why I need such a big department.”

“I should get back and start the interrogations.” Harry’s vigour starts to ebb again.

“You should get back to Ron and work out my funding. I’ll work with Legal on the interviews and you can have the transcripts tomorrow. There’s no point you going in, half your team are knackered and the other half are down in Mysteries drinking on my tab.” Draco stands up and offers a hand to Harry. 

Harry shakes his head in amusement. “You are such a micro-manager.”

Draco flicks the top of Harry’s unruly hair. “Language, Potter! Come on.”

Harry takes the hand and allows himself to be dragged up and out of the cubicle. He stops at the door to the loos and pulls Draco back to him, enfolding him in a chaste hug. After a moment, Harry’s hand slips lower, and Draco skips backwards.

“I will have to apologise to Lily,” Draco muses.

“Why?”

“I thought she was an opportunistic minx, but apparently it’s genetic.”

Harry grins at him in that fashion that Draco is finding increasingly hard to resist. Draco shakes his head. “Get _yourself_ something to eat, I’m headed back to the Ministry. I’ll be back at ten to collect the kids. Give Ron and Hermione my best, I’ll pop in if he’s still up.”

Harry’s expression softens. “He said thanks, Draco.”

“Course he did.” Draco is the one grinning now. “Have you seen the state of that river? Tell him to just get well, and I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

“You’re going?”

“I’m going.” And Draco does, because if he stays, things that should happen won’t, and things that shouldn’t happen will.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

As Draco expects, there are drunk Aurors on the floor of his meeting room. He steps over two before spotting Hannah Abbott sitting cross-legged on the table, consuming pumpkin pasties and holding back her laughter. He follows her eyes. Naturally, there is Fotherington, performing an interpretive dance rendition of the tidal surge.

“How much did they drink?” he asks, resignedly 

“Relax,” she reassures him. “You can afford it.” 

Several of the other Aurors spot Draco then, and questions regarding Ron rush at him. “He’s stable, he’s doing well, he’ll need some time to recover, but they think he’ll be all right,” he answers. “No visitors for a couple of days, but I’ll be stopping by later tonight and can hand messages over to Harry and Hermione.”

There are cheers, and as Draco attempts to make his way through to his office so that he can confer with Abbott, Fawcett grabs his ankle and assures him, from his prone position half under the meeting table, that not only is Draco a good bloke, really, he is also dead fanciable and he, Fawcett, really, really loves him, mate, and is happy for that to be spiritual and meaningful if Draco already has a shag. 

Draco thanks him and hurries away, ignoring Hannah’s snorts of laughter from behind him. She follows him into his office and pats his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Malfoy. It’s the heady scent of power. You should see what he’s like when Potter is around.”

“Spare me.” He shakes his head to dispel the mental image. “So, done anything about interviews while I’ve been gone?”

Hannah rolls her eyes at his lack of faith, but answers: “Yes, I have a team from Legal on their way down. Granger-Weasley’s obviously not available, but we have her top three and a few juniors. One of them was at school with your boy – Biggs, I think.”

“Lester?” Draco is pleased. “He must be freshly back from Spain, he hasn’t even popped by the Manor.”

“He flew in specially, says he thinks there’s an international connection.”

Draco sighs. Just what he needs. Domestic idiocy isn’t enough, clearly Britain could do with some of the foreign variety. “What about you, Hannah, want to sit in?”

Abbot’s eyes gleam very slightly. “I would love to. Would you like me to stand behind you with my wand out, or are you aiming for something more subtle?”

Draco grins. “I have something a little different in mind, though I wouldn’t call it subtle.”

It takes half an hour to set things up. Draco has time for a few words with Lester, mostly confirming the news that Ron will make a full, if slow, recovery, and Abbott takes the opportunity to find her black coat and tape her knuckles. There are two of the attackers who are ready to be interviewed. Several of the others remain unconscious, four are claiming Imperius and the rest have wounds and hex-damage enough to claim medical sanctuary. 

Draco is pleased to see that his would-be assailant from the first pier is one of the interviewees. He stops at the door to his interview room with Lester, Abbott and Savage and Williamson in tow. The two senior men from Legal are old, foul-tempered, and former Aurors. 

“Can you mind this one for five minutes while we set the other one up for interrogation?” Draco asks Abbott at the open door. 

“No visible bruises,” she replies with a wink.

The prisoner blanches. “I know my rights,” he says. “There has to be an advocate here for me. You can’t leave me alone with her.”

Savage smiles benignly at him. “You won’t be alone, I’ll be with you. And it won’t be for long; she’s off to interrogate him next door. Stupid lad wouldn’t answer questions that were put to him.”

Draco listens to the conversation continue as he closes the door. “You’ll keep her away from me?” he hears the assailant ask.

“As long as I am watching you, you’re safe,” Savage replies.

“Where are you going?” The young voice is tremulous now.

Draco hears Abbott laugh softly.

As he closes the door, he can hear the panic: “Turn around! Turn around!!”

Lester has one eyebrow raised as they walk down the hallway. Draco shakes his head slightly. “Abbott will be giving him her Look, the one that has guaranteed her peaceful drinking for the last twenty-five years, despite being one of the hotter Aurors known to the Ministry.”

Lester winces. “I’ve seen that look,” he admits.

“Ooh, you didn’t …”

“Try and pick her up in the Leaky? Only the once.” Lester’s eyes unfocus as he takes a brief, terrified sprint down memory lane. “She looks fantastic for her age …” he murmurs.

“Well, that’s true,” Draco concedes. “But she’ll rip your arm off and beat you with it if you come between her and a bottle of Ogden’s.”

Lester nods, and also smiles. “Almost worth it for the Older Woman Wisdom.”

“You’re a disturbing lad at times, Lester.”

“Thank you, sir, I aim to disconcert.”

“How are the girls in Spain?”

Lester positively grins. “Dark and bad-tempered, sir, just the way I like them.”

Draco can’t help laughing. “Shame Abbott’s out of your league, she’s really your ideal woman.”

“Armed, cranky and slightly crazy? Spot on, sir. How’s Scorpius?”

“I’m going to assume that was a non sequitur, not a segue. He’s well. When was the last time he wrote to you?”

“I know all about him and Potter.” Lester grins. “Took them long enough. I was about to write a sternly worded letter if he hadn’t tweaked.”

“You’re a good lad, Lester. Think it’s been long enough?”

“Five minutes, Mr Malfoy, should do.”

“Excellent, let’s head back.”

When Draco opens the door to the interview room the prisoner’s voice rises in desperation. “Make her stop! Make her stop!” The face he turns to them is panicked.

Draco and Lester walk in to find Savage seated opposite the prisoner and Abbott leaning casually against the wall opposite. “What have you been up to, Abbott?”

“Just chatting, Malfoy.”

Savage is smiling gently. “So far, we have heard about Ms Abbott’s childhood castrating sheep on her uncle’s farm, the foot and mouth epidemic of ’01, and now we are onto menstrual cramps.”

“Hot water bottle and chocolate are the only known cures,” she asserts.

Lester’s eyes shine with barely contained devotion. “Genius,” he whispers.

“They’re ready for you next door, Abbott,” Draco tells her.

She stretches, managing to crack her shoulders as well as her knuckles. “Excellent,” she says, smiling. And, with a leer at the prisoner, she saunters from the room.

“What’s she going to do?” the prisoner whispers. 

Lester sits on the edge of the table and looks at him sympathetically. “Your colleague is refusing to answer questions. Abbott has gone to change his mind.”

A shiver runs across the shoulders of the young man. “You can’t make me tell you anything. Not my name, not our purpose, nothing.”

Draco is impressed at his veneer of bravado, but he can see Lester smiling.

“Your name is Michael Hindley, you were four years ahead of me at Hogwarts,” the young lawyer says. Hindley’s shoulders slump.

Draco sits alongside Savage and takes the opportunity to begin his questioning. “Why the Barrier, Michael?”

Things proceed slowly for the first twenty minutes. After ten, a rhythmic sound from the next room can be heard. It is dull, like something partially soft hitting a wall. Draco, Savage and Lester ignore it. Hindley becomes increasingly unnerved as it goes on. 

“Who worked the weather magic, Hindley?” Draco continues to ask questions, despite Hindley’s silence.

The prisoner cracks, though not helpfully. “What’s that sound?”

Draco shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he says.

“Sounds like a body hitting a wall,” Savage comments.

Hindley looks at him with wild eyes.

“Nah,” Lester drawls the syllable. “You’d hear the screams.”

“If he was conscious,” Savage points out. After a moment he adds: “Or alive.”

Hindley starts to talk at that point. There are thirty names in all. The group doesn’t have a name, they don’t have a manifesto, they have controlling interests in development firms and steelworks.

“You did it for the money?” Draco is appalled.

“It was worth billions,” Hindley protests.

“What about the people you’d kill?” Draco’s voice rises.

“A few thousand, worth it for the price!”

Draco stands up suddenly and walks quickly from the interrogation room. He can hear Lester following him, but he doesn't care. He walks to the nearest wall and punches it. It lacks the satisfying crunch of bone, so he punches harder, imagining a nose splaying under his fist. That feels better. He draws back his arm again, inhaling sharply, and surprised that he can hear his breath so clearly through the pounding of his blood rushing through arteries. He can hear something else.

It is Lester's voice. “Sir? Mr Malfoy?”

Draco powers the next punch from his hips, his shoulders carrying the momentum up into his arm. This time he visualises Hindley's ribs … a large hand captures his before it can be driven into the plaster.

“Draco!” Lester is all but shouting in his ear.

Draco looks up at him evenly. “I wanted to kill him. This is …” he takes a deep breath. “This is preferable.”

“Yes, sir,” says Lester gently. “But you need to let me heal your hand.”

Draco breathes some more, and allows Lester to take his hand and charm away the damage. “I could live better with political idiocy, you know,” he mutters.

“It’s less cold,” Lester agrees. “But at least you’ll have no concerns about locking this lot away for years.”

“Makes me miss the Dementors.”

Savage walks out and joins them at this point. “He wants to cut a deal,” he tells the two younger men. “I’ve offered him protective custody in return for his testimony.”

Draco nods. “Sounds good.”

Savage pats him on the shoulder. “Go home. Biggs and I have this one sorted. We won’t be needing any of your potions.”

“I’m headed back to St Mungo’s. Harry will want an update, the kids are all there.”

“Go,” Savage smiles as he speaks. “You’re no use to us here. I’ll call Hannah in if we need to menace anyone.”

“Thank her for me,” Draco says. “Tell her she can claim for any damage to the medicine ball.”

“Tell Scorp I’ll be by tomorrow to catch up,” Lester adds. 

“We’ll look forward to it,” Draco declares as he walks up the corridor.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The Welcome Witch seems less happy to see Draco this time. “It is very late,” she points out.

“Just here to pick up the children and give Mr Potter an update from the Auror office,” Draco replies

Mollified, she waves him through.

The hallway outside Ron’s room is quieter. There are two Aurors standing guard, Draco hands over the take-away that he has smuggled through and promises them drinks the following evening. They send him in; Ron is doing well and would like some company.

Draco enters the room quietly, but it quickly becomes apparent that Ron has plenty of company already. In addition to the six children snoozing on an expanded sofa, there is Hermione with Harry on one side of his bed, and Arthur and Molly Weasley on the other. Bill and Percy are standing with their parents, while George is at the foot of the bed, quietly acting out a complex tale, to judge by his hand gestures.

Ron spots him and waves him over. “The hero of the hour,” he says, grinning.

Draco shakes his head. “Hardly. Competent swimmer, perhaps. Everyone sends their love. Abbott wants you to know that she accidentally dropped your assailant twice as she was unloading him from the van.”

Ron grins. “Hannah loves me,” he tells Hermione.

“Hannah loves that you increase her pay every time she beats you in an arm wrestle,” Hermione tells Ron, smiling indulgently.

“And Fawcett asked me to check that your beautiful face had not been harmed.”

Both Ron and Hermione laugh at that.

Harry bites his bottom lip not asking questions, so Draco answers the ones he thinks will be uppermost in his mind. “We’ve convinced one of them to testify. He says we have all but a handful in custody, and he’s given names and addresses for the rest. Some of them are on the continent, Lester is hatching plans. Apparently they were looking to make a multi-billion Galleon profit in the rebuilding of the city.”

“Money?!” Ron is the first to give voice to his disgust. “Those twats were happy to kill me for cash?”

“You and thousands of others,” Hermione reminds him.

“Them too!”

Draco nods. “I’m afraid so. On the upside, no new crazed political movement, so that’s a nice change.”

Molly Weasley tuts loudly. “Stupid young people. Don’t they understand that after everything our generations went through they should be grateful they have their freedom and lives?”

“That includes freedom to cock things up, Mum,” Percy reminds her.

“Language,” she snaps, with what Draco recognises as a half-century of parenting habit. Percy pats her on the shoulder while she fusses with Ron’s pillows. She does not look around.

Draco smiles at Ron. “I’ve just come to pick up the kids, really. I’ll make sure they get a good night’s sleep and something nutritious in the morning before I bring yours back in.”

Ron smiles in reply. “Be a mate? Bring them all for a bit in the morning, then take them all back to your place. There’s no point having them here worrying all day when they could be out blowing things up and breaking their arms.”

“And that sudden flash of insight into your childhood makes me rather glad we couldn’t stand each other in those days,” Draco laughs.

Molly Weasley spins around and looks at Draco meaningly. He suddenly realises that banter between workmates may not translate to family members as she walks to his side and looks up at him. 

After a moment’s peering, she speaks. “I want to apologise for misjudging you,” she says. “You have not been the man I thought you were for a long time.”

“Thank you,” he says in surprise.

She nods at him, then walks from the room. Arthur follows, patting Draco on the shoulder as he walks past. Draco looks around for an explanation.

“Closest you’ll ever get to a welcome to the family speech,” Ron tells him, grinning.

“Oh by all the Hogwarts’ ghosts,” sighs Draco. “Don’t tell me I’m a Weasel connection. I should have let you drown.”

Ron laughs. “Cheer up. Mum may be a handful, but Dad has an extensive collection of Muggle alcohols to go with his gadgets, and Charlie can dispose of any bodies you may have lying about.”

“Well, between that and Percy’s contacts, I suppose it’s not so bad a fate,” Draco muses.

“Don’t forget the sheer attractiveness of Bill and myself,” George chimes in. 

“Yeah, sorry, you’re pleasant-looking blokes, but it’s hard to look past Charlie,” Draco quips, raising a laugh from everyone except Harry, who pulls a face instead. 

Draco moves to the position recently vacated by Molly and Arthur, and is pleased to see that Ron’s colour is good and his breathing even. But his hands move weakly and his legs aren’t even twitching. This is the first time Draco has seen Ron still, save for moments on jobs when he has sat in wait in a tension-filled crouch. It’s unnerving.

“How are you, Ron?” he asks. “Seriously.”

Ron nods. “A bit fucked. Legs aren’t working yet, will be a few weeks they say. Maybe two months before I can run again, three before I’m as strong. Arms work, but they feel pretty feeble. It’s like being the girliest girl ever.”

This last achieves its aim of shifting the morose expression from Hermione’s face. She sticks her tongue out instead.

Draco pats Ron’s arm. “You’re going to be all right, yeah?” He knows that this is not the best reassurance ever offered, but Weasley has a family for that.

“Yeah, I am. Cheers, mate.”

“You’re right. I was returning a favour, anyway.”

Ron laughs at this and turns to Harry. “See! _Some_ people consider it manners to pay others back when they save their sorry white arses.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Bloody hell, Ron, I saved the wizarding world, what more do you want?”

“Cake. And get-well chocolates.”

Hermione shakes her head. “Oh no. You can’t move, you’ll be the size of a house by the time you can walk again.”

“He can have a dose of our Confectionary Calorie Consumer,” George offers.

“Because diarrhoea is so pleasant when you’re unable to walk,” Bill adds _sotto voce_.

Ron takes Hermione’s hands in his. “I was thinking you’d help with my physical therapy, because you’d be an incentive as well as a hard taskmistress.”

“Right, visiting hours are over,” Percy announces briskly. “Nobody needs to see the two of you getting frisky.”

They laugh, but Percy is right, and Harry and Hermione are soon rousing the gaggle from the sofa – Lily mutters that she has actually been watching and listening the whole time.

“Draco,” Ron calls him over quietly while the others fuss around readying to leave. “Do me a favour?”

“Sure, what?”

“Take Harry home with you.”

Draco is very proud of his expression. It doesn’t change at all. It may hold for a trifle longer than is natural, but that’s another problem altogether.

Ron goes on. “He should be with you and the kids, you’ll distract him and keep him from brooding. He’d never ask, but I know he won’t want to be alone tonight.”

Draco nods understandingly while he tries to recall where his voice should be pitched. “Good idea. He can sleep in with James and Albus, keep them out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Ron raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Rose.

“Relax. Killing each other trouble. James has decided that since he has a curfew with Rose, Al has one with Scorpius. It’s not his most popular decision.” Draco pauses. “Though Helene and I don’t really mind it. Mother has been machinating with the boys against him, I foresee bribery.”

Ron laughs. “Cheers, Draco.”

“Get well, yeah?” Draco steps out of the way to allow a tide of Weasley brothers to offer their goodnights. Five years ago he was on frigidly polite terms with these people. Now work, the children, Harry … 

“Dad, Albus can take me home if you can take Lily and Hugo,” Scorpius is at his shoulder.

“Albus has had his Apparating licence for less than a month, and is yawning with tiredness. Harry, can you take the boys back to the Manor? You might as well stay over, too, there’s room.” 

Harry looks at him with an expression too layered for Draco’s tired mind to decipher. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

Hermione’s expression is even harder to read as she sends Hugo to Draco’s side. “Thanks for taking care of them,” she whispers.

“It’s nothing. Get some sleep,” he replies, and ushers the children into the corridor, with each farewelling sundry parents and uncles as they go. Harry is a minute behind, his goodbyes more private. 

“Home?” Harry asks as he emerges through the door.

“Home.” Draco agrees.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Narcissa is there to greet the troops on their return. Harry’s inclusion in the group passes unremarked, save by the slightest of eyebrow raises. She listens patiently to the updates, supplies alcohol for the adults and pumpkin juice for the young set, and then whisks away everyone under the age of nineteen for a spot of astronomy.

She is so swift, that Draco is surprised to find himself alone with Harry at the supper table.

“I did not pay her to do that,” Harry tells him.

Draco almost holds back his smile. “Show you to your room?”

“I thought I was sharing with the boys.”

“That was merely a threat. It’s a manor house, Harry, we have plenty of spare rooms.”

“Lead the way.”

The journey to Harry’s room is discursive. Several times he stops to ask Draco questions about a painting or an artefact. Ancient suits of armour provoke silliness, and Draco’s very-Great Aunt Lettice enjoys a pleasant discussion with Harry on the fashions of her day and why ruffs were more trouble than they were worth.

Harry is laughing by the time they finish their walk. “The Walnut Room,” says Draco, pushing open the door. “It’s in your old colours.”

Scarlet bedding with gold trim takes Harry back to the dormitories of his youth. “You shouldn’t have,” he teases.

“I didn’t. Helene coordinated the interiors to go with the furniture and panelling. Bathroom’s through this door,” Draco steps inside and opens another door, “though the bath’s only small, sorry. But you’ll find toiletries, toothbrush and towels. Pyjamas in here, they're old but clean, and I can send a house-elf to pick you up some clothes for the morning, or you’re welcome to borrow some of mine, I’m sure something will fit.”

Harry sits in the window seat and looks out over the night garden. “Thanks, Draco. Your home is beautiful, I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

Draco should leave, but instead he sits in the chair beside the escritoire. “Don’t think you’ve ever had the tour. You’re usually here to drop off or pick up. There’s parchment in here if you’d like to write to Ginny, send her an update.”

“Did it at the hospital.” Harry shrugs. “Ron insisted she not hurry back, said he was fine. I don’t think he wants to see her until he’s standing up. She frets.”

A slight smile crosses Harry’s face at that. Draco knows that Ginny Weasley would have yelled at Harry for being so stupid as to get her brother hurt, and that she would have understood without being told that Ron didn’t want her to see him like this. Sometimes he almost likes Ginny.

“Right. Well, breakfast is at seven, but if you’re tired, call for a house-elf and we’ll have something brought up for you.”

“I’ll be up.”

“Sleep well.” Draco stands to leave, but is held by a soft word.

“Stay.”

Draco doesn’t look up at him. He knows it’s cowardice, he doesn’t care.

Harry speaks anyway. “What you said the other day, about the difference between being friends and trying to get into your pants, it’s not an either/or. No matter what happens, we are friends now. When I said home at the hospital, I didn’t mean your home, I meant somewhere that feels like home to my family. And that’s a handful of places. Our house, the Burrow, Ron and Hermione’s, Ginny’s mad flat, and now here.”

Draco still doesn’t look up, but he can’t help smiling. “Malfoy Manor feels like home to Harry Potter?”

“Draco …” Harry waits until Draco’s eyes meet his before he goes on. “Its occupants feel like family.”

They are both smiling now. “This might be the right time to tell you that Teddy started quietly visiting us about five years ago,” Draco admits.

“Oh I know that,” Harry waves his hand. “I am Head Auror, there are no secrets. And I know your mother set him up with that job in France so that he and Victoire could have some time away from Fleur, too.”

“You’re going to fit right into this family,” Draco sighs.

“I already have,” Harry grins at him.

“I’m going now,” Draco tells him. “Good night, sleep well.”

Harry nods, and Draco closes the door as he steps out through it. He leans against it for a moment.

Albus Potter is in the hall outside. 

“Evening, Mr Malfoy,” he says.

Draco finds the boy’s eyes far harder to read than his father’s. “I was just showing Harry to his room,” he says.

Albus nods. “It’s all right, you know,” he tells Draco.

Surprised, Draco agrees. “Yeah, Ron will be fine, it will just take a few weeks.”

Albus looks as though he is about to say something else, but instead he just smiles. “Back up to the roof with your mum. Scorpius sent me on the chocolate mission in a bid to have some actually arrive. He doesn’t trust the house-elves, they keep trying to make him eat the varieties with fruit and nuts, Lily’s bribed them all.”

Draco laughs at the idea of his son consuming adulterated chocolate. “I hope you have some of the hazelnut for your sister.”

Albus holds up a block from his collection. 

“Good night then. Make sure you’re all in bed by two.” Draco takes a few steps away before he stops and looks back. “And that’s two British Summer time, not whatever time zone my mother decides to calculate in.”

“Yes, Mr Malfoy, good night.”

“Good night, Albus.”

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Lester appears at breakfast the following day. Only Draco, Scorpius and Rose are up. The other children went to bed at three minutes to two, Narcissa stayed up far later. Draco has knocked on Harry’s door once, received a muffled groan in reply, and decided that the Potter habit of sleeping in had to come from somewhere.

Cups of tea and mugs of coffee are handed out as requested, and Lester cagily hints that he needs to talk with Draco. Rose asks Scorpius to show her his new brooms and the two Ministry employees are left alone.

“So,” says Draco.

Lester takes a slice of toast from the rack and begins to butter it while he talks. “We’ve kept all the suspects separately, so none of them know who’s been interrogated. Everyone is being questioned as though we hope they will crack, everyone is being offered a deal. Granger-Weasley popped by first thing and asked that we put the whole case together before handing off the round-ups to the Aurors. There’s a lot of money behind some of those suspects and she doesn’t want anyone buying their way out of a conviction.”

Draco nods. He is aware of the irony here, but doesn’t care to dwell. “What time did you start the questioning?”

“Five-thirty. As soon as they had finished their mandated eight-hours’ sleep.”

“Nicely done. Who came up with that, Savage?”

“Of course. Williamson finessed it.”

Many years in Auror uniform have given Savage and Williamson an unconventional approach that has revolutionised Legal. Hermione despairs of them regularly. Draco smiles his approval. 

Lester continues: “We’ll need Veritaserum for Hindley’s confirming statement. And more if any of the others choose to talk.” 

“Good work. Would you like jam?”

“Yes, please. Thank you. So, as far as we can see, we have the British set cleaned up for the most part, but from some of the statements and what paperwork we can find, there was backing from Europe and we’ve made little inroad there.”

“Spain?” Draco asks, in hopes that two conspiracies will come together into one tidy package.

“France,” Lester corrects him, ruefully. “The Minister is waiting till Head Auror Potter gets in this morning, but rumour has it he wants to send a team from MLE to liaise with the locals, see if they can help.”

“Given the French MLE’s track record, do you think that’s likely to help?”

Lester hastily swallows his ill-timed mouthful of toast. “No, but I think that given how bad their internal security is, there’s every chance the people we’re after will hear that we're still feeling our way in the investigation and be reassured. News has broken. I think Shacklebolt is hoping that the French will assume we know absolutely nothing and be lulled into a false sense of security.”

Draco nods. “If we're not actively pursuing them by tomorrow, they’ll be starting to relax, by the day after, they’ll be thinking they’re safe.”

“Exactly. The only flaw in the plan is at the moment, we actually do know nothing. Oh well. By the way, have you seen _The Prophet_ yet today?”

Draco is not the least bit surprised that Lester has an early edition. The front cover depicts the mop-up teams down at the Barrier, with a headline reading ‘Crisis Averted!’ The story beside it credits Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, who is expected to make a full recovery, with saving London and the lives of millions. Draco has a small smile as he recognises Fotherington sitting with his girl in the corner of the photograph.

“They seem to have accidentally left you out, sir,” Lester says quietly. 

“We have an agreement,” Draco tells him. “They keep quiet about my family for the most part, I don’t hex any of them. It works well, on the whole.”

Lester chooses his words delicately. “That’s hardly fair, people should know what you do.”

“Everyone I care about already does,” Draco reminds him. “The unwashed masses have never been my concern.”

“It still doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“Yes, Lester, that’s because you’re young,” Draco says, patting his shoulder. “Young people care about these things. Old people care only about their children, their hairlines, and looking respectable in bathing costumes.”

Lester smothers a laugh. 

“You can relax, then,” says a voice from the doorway. 

Draco watches as Lester looks from him, to Harry leaning rumpled against the doorjamb, then back to him, and swiftly sums up the situation inaccurately.

“Potter was still with Weasley at the hospital when I went to pick up the children,” Draco says, in what he suspects is a doomed bid for clarification. “We have a surfeit of bedrooms, it seemed only polite to offer him one.”

“Of course, sir,” says Lester with wide-eyed innocence.

Draco comforts himself with the knowledge that Lester won’t share his conclusions with anyone. He’ll just mentally file them in the Useful Things To Know About My Superiors part of his brain, a part Draco suspects takes up several lobes.

Harry ambles in and pours himself a cup of tea from the still-warm pot. “Any news?”

“Backing for the whole op seems to have come from France. Lester tells me that Kingsley’s waiting for you to come in.”

Harry makes a face while he sips his tea. “It was too much to hope for that it would all be wrapped up neatly by the time I got up, I suppose.”

“Yes,” says Draco. “It was. Not to mention that it’s eight and you were going to be up at seven.”

“But you’ve breakfast for me, yes?”

Lester’s eyes are like saucers, Draco realises and, as he replays that conversation in his head, he is forced to admit Lester’s suspicions could seem reasonable to the untutored mind. Probably not helped by the fact that Harry is still wearing his pyjamas. With the DM monogram. 

“Yes, of course,” Draco sighs, indicating the still-warm plates and dishes on the nearby serving table. 

“So,” says Harry. “France. Fancy coming?”

Lester is unable to hold in an undignified snort. Draco drops his head into his hands and considers weeping until they both go away. 

Harry blinks at them and is saved from having to think before breakfast by the clattering arrival of James, who dashes through the room, grabbing two slices of toast from the rack and slapping bacon between them.

“Rose?” James asks between bites.

“Looking at Scorpius's broom collection,” Draco answers.

James grunts and wanders off in pursuit.

“It's his skills as an orator I'm most proud of,” Harry says after a minute. “So, France.”

“You shouldn't go, sir,” says Lester.

Harry looks at him sharply, and Draco is impressed to see that Lester does not even blink.

“We don't want to tip our hand. You are … a well-known figure. Your presence would only mean one thing. If we want to have a spot of independent snooping, it needs to be done by people who have plausible reasons for being in the area.”

Draco hears Lester's subtext clearly. “Like someone looking for a nice flat for his ex-wife.”

“Exactly like that, sir.”

Draco grins. “I'd probably drag one of my young protégés along to do the heavy lifting.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“I'll see if Al is available,” Draco can't help saying, if only to see the disappointment on Lester's face and the quick mental process behind Harry's eyes as he weighs up the advantages to Albus of learning realpolitik from a Malfoy against the fallout from the lad's mother and grandmother. Draco can even see the exact moment when Harry considers that Molly would probably be on board, given the events of yesterday.

“I am joking,” Draco says. “Scorpius would thump me. It'll have to be you, Lester.”

“Oh, I knew that,” Lester says, quite convincingly. “Albus has nothing on me when it comes to heavy lifting.”

“When do you want to head off?”

“After you finish breakfast? No time like the present, and if we find anything, Mr Potter may be able to act on it before the day is out.”

Harry looks quickly between the two of them. “If you find anything,” he says, “you are to leave it well alone and come back immediately. No putting yourselves in danger, no causing international incidents.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You're wilfully ignoring the fact that, since 1998, every Malfoy you know has been dedicated to _averting_ international incidents. Honestly, I'd have had an easier time of it were there rumours regarding me and goats.”

Harry grins broadly and Draco raises a hand in warning. “I will know where they originated and I will exact bloody vengeance.”

“Threatening the Head Auror over breakfast? I might have to run you in,” Harry says with a wink.

Draco sighs. “Lester and I are leaving now before his head explodes and I am forced to kill you.”

“Be back by five, and come straight to my office, both of you. I'll work the case from this end, with a bit of luck the three of us should be able to start pulling it together before the day is out.”

“I thought you might want to spend time at the hospital,” Draco says gently.

Harry shakes his head quickly. “I'll pop by, but Ron would want us focussed on the case. He has a large family to fuss over him, they'll keep him amused. I'll drop Rose and Hugo at St Mungo's on my way to work, and leave the others to decide how they'd like to spend the day.”

“Just don't leave my mother in charge, whatever you do.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Harry assures him.

Draco drains what is left of his now lukewarm tea. “Right. Lester, you done? Give me a minute to grab my travelling robes and a Paris Portkey and we'll be on our way. Do you need to stop at home or the office for anything?”

“No sir, passport and wallet in pockets, wand at the ready, wearing comfortable shoes.”

“Good lad. Get some more toast into you, I'll be back in a minute.” 

Draco is on his way back from his room when he runs into Scorpius. “I thought you were with Rose,” he says.

“She's now with James, and I was a bit extraneous. I'm off to see if I can convince Albus to face the morning. What about you?”

“Off to Paris. Lester has a lead on the case and we're off for a spot of surreptitious snooping.”

“Without Mr Potter?”

“He's too obvious … Don't you dare giggle.” Draco finds it hard to resist joining his son in soft laughter and rolls his eyes instead. “What's the world coming to when I have to submit to having my son giggle at me?”

“Sorry, Dad. But you're right. If I had to describe Mr Potter in one word, it would be obvious.” Scorpius does not wink, and for this Draco is immensely grateful.

“I was referring to his presence as an Auror.”

“So was I. Mostly.”

“You're an awful child.”

“I take after my father.”

Draco smiles fondly. “No, you're far better. I've known your father for years and he's dramatically improved since you've been about.”

“Well then we take after each other, and that's no bad thing.”

“You go off and wake up your young man. And try to keep the others out of mischief while I'm away. Rose and Hugo will probably end up at the hospital for at least some of the day.”

“We'll tag along, the Potters and I can be put to use running any errands the Weasleys need. If nothing else, Mr Weasley will want some pyjamas and books from home.” Scorpius thinks for a second. “Actually, Mrs Weasley will want books, Mr Weasley will want the papers to keep up with this week's Quidditch results.”

Draco shakes his head at his son. “Ron is brighter than he looks, you know. Has to be to keep up with his daughter.”

“I know. But what's the point of being my age if not to make mock of people your age?”

“Go. Make mock indeed, you dreadful child.”

Scorpius grins back at his father as they both head off in different directions. Draco still finds it hard to believe this bright, beautiful young man could have anything to do with him, but is daily grateful for the miracle of it.

Lester is finishing up toast with egg and bacon as Draco re-enters the breakfast room. Draco picks up an apple and slips it into his robe's pocket for later. Remembering his manners, he adds a spare.

“Say hello to Ron for me,” Draco tells Harry. “And tell him he's welcome to recuperate here if he'd like to. They could have the Crupmaster cottage, since that's all on one level, or there's plenty of room in the house if he doesn't mind being magicked up and down stairs. I'm fairly certain his family will prefer him at one of their homes, so in that case it would make me very happy to lend them a house-elf to help with the domestic side. Properly paid, of course.”

“He'll refuse,” Harry points out.

“Yes, but then you'll tell him I feel terribly guilty about not spotting his attackers in time and you'll have a quiet word to Hermione about factoring in the fact Ron's actually a very useful person and how much he won't be able to do for the next few months, and I live in hope that common sense will prevail and one of them will say yes. And they're not to think about payment, because we're friends and they have fed my son a great deal.”

Harry grins. “If that's how we're calculating indebtedness, James is ruining me.”

“Don't worry about it, Lily will scheme up a way to rescue you from penury. Lester, you done?” 

Lester has just swallowed the last of his breakfast. “Ready to go, sir.”

“Right.” Draco pulls a small black book from his travel robes. He taps it with his wand. “Give it a minute, best grab hold now, though.”

Lester takes the other side of the book. 

“Draco, be careful,” Harry says. 

“I always am,” Draco says, and then the Portkey activates and the room is no longer there and after a long moment in which space is both compressed and elongated at once, he and Lester stop on a cobbled street in the Right Bank wizarding district of Paris.

“This way,” Draco says, familiarity making his steps sure. He leads them down a small lane and stops outside Agence Matthieu Liseron, a tastefully decorated establishment with neatly lettered cards describing properties available for sale or lease in the area. As Draco touches the window in front of one card, a spell activates and a vision of the house appears, first the exterior and yards, then a tour through the rooms.

“Nice spellcraft,” Lester admires.

“I am glad you think so,” a voice says beside them.

There is a tall wizard standing there, dressed in a fashionable Muggle suit. Draco knows him. “Monsieur Liseron, how are you today?”

“I am well, Mr Malfoy. And you?”

“Excellent. This is my associate, Lester Biggs. Lester, this is Matthieu Liseron.”

The two men shake hands and all three move inside the office. “Is there anything in particular that brings you to Paris?” the realtor asks.

“My former wife is looking for a new abode, I promised her I would do a spot of scouting for her and narrow down her choices. In fact, with her birthday coming up, I might just make it my little gift.”

Liseron smiles with a look that anticipates profit. “Certainly. Any particular locales?”

Lester's list of French suspects is small, three of them live in the same neighbourhood, Draco begins there. 

It does not take until five o'clock. In fact, they appear in Harry's office just before lunch, weighed down with scrolls detailing the virtues of several attractive residences in the 16th Arrondissement, and several boxes of sweets. Since Harry had, the instant before, been gently talking with Fawcett about the latter's tendency to lose his mind while drunk, it's an awkward moment. Especially given Fawcett's sudden recollection of his declarations of passion for Draco the night before.

Draco smiles broadly. “Macarons for all!” he declares. “And the French connection is a total front.”

Fawcett takes a hazelnut macaron and scuttles to the back of the room while Draco explains. “Every house on that list is vacant. Every single one. The names we were given are their registered owners on paper, but Lester here could not find a single person who'd met any of them. And guess where the mail from each of them redirects to?”

Harry is grinning. “How close?”

“East Molesey.”

“ _Really_?”

“I know.” Draco is as bemused as Harry. Not known as a hotbed of international criminal conspiracies, East Molesey is a place the kind would call pleasant and the accurate would call dull. “A house near the end of Bell Road.”

“We should organise a warrant and put a team together,” Harry says.

Draco grins. “You and Lester should, I'm on holiday.”

“Is the Minister in, sir?” Lester asks.

“I think so.”

“That's good. We're going to need special approval, it's a Muggle residence.”

“Buggeration. That's going to take hours.”

Lester nods cheerily. “Yes, sir, paperwork often does. But it is the backbone of a successful conviction.”

Harry frowns at him, then turns to Draco. “Biggs used to be far more deferential around me. This casual attitude is doubtless your responsibility.”

Draco shrugs. “Biggs has always been a mystery to me: either he sees us all as essential mentors in his inexorable progress upwards, or he's two steps away from becoming the next Dark wizard to hatch plans for European domination.”

“That's hardly fair, sir,” Lester says.

“You're right,” Draco agrees. “You wouldn't limit yourself, it would be world domination or nothing.”

“Thank you.”

They are interrupted by a throat being cleared at the back of the room. It's Fawcett. “Can I leave?” he asks.

“Of course,” says Harry. “In fact we all should, it's lunchtime. Except you, Lester, up to Kingsley's office with you and set about securing those warrants.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Harry waits until the two younger men have left before he grins and lunges into the large pile of scrolls beside his desk. After a moment, he emerges, victorious, bearing one aloft.

“I knew there was something here!” Harry holds up the parchment. “Woman in East Molesey with a cursed teapot, she thinks it was one of her neighbours. She's only a few houses away from our target!”

“Let me see.” Draco takes the scroll.

“Mmmm,” he says, chewing on a vanilla macaron. “You're proposing we take this on as a public service, I assume.” 

“Yes, of course. It's incumbent on us as department heads to keep our hands in so that we understand the operational needs of the witch or wizard on the ground.”

Draco gives him a measured look. “It's possible that I'm a bad influence on you. Also, there's no one here but us.”

“Sorry, it's automatic these days.”

“I'm not going to point out that it's wildly irresponsible,” Draco says.

“That's what makes it _fun_. Besides, we're only scoping out the environs. We can't go in without a warrant. Unless there's some obvious wrongdoing taking place.”

“At which point it would be our civic duty to take action,” Draco sighs. “Come on, you're just as much a bad influence on me. And if we go now, we'll still have time for a decent lunch.”

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

They find the witch's house easily enough, it's the one with the massive Disillusionment spell making it appear to be an uninviting locked-up neo-Georgian monstrosity behind a thicket of privet and honeysuckle. Looked at through unbespelled eyes, it is a reasonably large, neat cottage with a garden that speaks of an owner who has ample time for letter writing.

Harry marches them down the path and raps smartly on the door.

“Yes?” comes a firm voice from inside, without opening it.

“Auror department, Mrs Witherton. We're here to look at your teapot.”

“You'll need to identify yourself!” barks the voice, opening the door.

Draco can feel himself pulling a face at the absurdity of it all, but Harry has on his best Dealing With the Public expression and is cheerfully introducing himself as the old woman glares at them. 

“I know who you are,” she says. “You've been in the papers since you were a baby. And aren't you the Malfoy boy?”

“Draco Malfoy,” he agrees.

Emmeline Witherton looks at them with keen, old eyes. “Aren’t you both meant to be back at the Ministry running things?” 

Draco sighs. Old ladies and their tendency to accuracy are one of the banes of his life. Not that his mother is _old_ , of course.

“In addition to being Head of the Department of Mysteries, Mr Malfoy is one of our leading curse-breakers,” Harry asserts. “As to myself, I mandate field actions for all of my top staff so that we can stay in touch with the issues affecting our Aurors on the ground.”

“So it’s not just an excuse for a day out of the office?”

Harry takes an explanatory breath and draws himself up to his full height, but is slightly undermined by Draco exchanging conspiratorial winks with Mrs Witherton. “It’s a lovely day,” he explains.

She smiles broadly at him. “And I can’t recall the last time I had two such handsome men in the house. Do come in.”

Draco takes the opportunity to step in ahead of Harry as they are ushered into a sunny sitting room. The inside of the house is much the same as the outside, save for the sunniest corner of this room, which holds a large rumpled tweedy chair with an old cap and book on its seat. 

Their hostess sees him glancing at it. “Mr Witherton's, rest his soul,” she confirms. “Can I get you boys some tea? I have a lovely apple cake just out of the oven, or some ginger biscuits.”

“Apple cake would be lovely,” Draco says. Then he winks again. “And is the tea coming out in the cursed pot? Because it might be better to look at it empty.”

“Oh you duffer,” Mrs Witherton giggles. “It's the violet-pattern pot on top of the curio. And as long as you don't put anything in it, it's harmless.”

“I'll start on it while you're off with the tea. Do you need a hand? Auror Potter's free.”

“Oh that would be lovely. I've had such a time lifting that tray this week, what with my back …” 

Draco is saved the details of said back's sufferings, but the look Harry throws at him as he trots obediently after the witch clearly states that he will receive a thorough recap after. Worth it, though.

The teapot presents an interesting challenge. It's definitely cursed, but specifically so. Although Draco can see the outline of the spell, it won't activate fully for him. He is up to his twelfth test by the time Mrs Witherton and Harry return. 

“And of course, Mr Witherton could always pop it back into place by bending me backwards over the sofa, but no one else seems to have the knack. Any luck, dear?”

The last is directed at Draco, and he shakes his head apologetically, ignoring Potter's expression of glazed horror. “I think you need to touch it for the curse to activate.”

Mrs Witherton does, and the spell immediately kicks into action. The spout deforms subtly into what Draco can see is a spilling form, and the china starts sucking heat from the air within, which would no doubt lead to quickly tepid tea. He can feel the lurking projectile spells, just wanting to spout dark liquid about. A few flicks of his wand and muttered spellcraft and Draco has restored the pot to normal function, even the violets look brighter and better drawn. 

His success is obvious. “Well done, dear!” says Mrs Witherton.

Harry has his serious Auror face on as he takes a slice of apple cake. “Do you have any idea who might have cursed it?”

“It was never the same after I lent it to Ermintrude Cowslip,” Mrs Witherton mutters. “She's witch enough to manage it, too.”

“Does she have reason to curse your teapot?” Harry asks.

“Of course not! We've been friends for years! In fact the only time we've ever had cross words was back when I was first walking out with Wilfred, Mr Witherton, she had her eye on him, but there was never anything there, it was me he loved, you see. But I should have known, he was the only man she ever showed an interest in.”

“I see,” says Harry.

“When did you lend the teapot to Miss Cowslip?” Draco asks.

“The end of March.”

“And, forgive me, but when did Mr Witherton die?”

“Just a little before that, dear. It was very sudden, quick and painless.”

“Do you think, perhaps, that she might still have been a little jealous? And that maybe she became rather mixed up in her mourning? Perhaps she cursed your teapot because she never quite got over you having the life she wanted?”

“But we're friends …”

Draco smiles gently. “Oh yes, you are. Notice how the curse is just inconvenient, not harmful. She made certain the tea would be tepid before it came spilling out everywhere. She never wanted to hurt you, just make a mess. And she probably knew you had other teapots you could use instead of this one.”

“Well, of course she did. That one was for best, she gave it to Wilfred and I when we were married … Oh … Oh the poor dear! I never suspected! She always seemed so happy with her work.”

“I'm sure she's terribly sorry about the whole thing,” Draco says kindly.

“Oh who cares about a teapot?” Mrs Witherton makes hurry-up gestures with her hands. “I'll have to go and see her, let her know how highly Wilfred always thought of her.”

“Does she live nearby?” Harry asks.

“Four doors down.”

“Not three?”

“I know where she lives, young man.”

Draco interrupts. “We should possibly go and have a word with her, there have been reports of suspicious activity in this area.”

“Well that's hardly likely to be Ermintrude, she's a respectable retired Herbologist. More likely those Muggle neighbours of hers, in and out at all hours, those big automathingies driving up and down, and never anyone actually there when you knock to complain.”

“That's the house three doors down?” Harry confirms.

“Yes, aren't you listening? Now if you're done with that tea and cake, I should be on my way.”

“We'll walk you down,” Harry says.

Mrs Witherton beams. “That's very kind of you. Give me a moment while I find my hat and bag.”

Draco waits until she has left the room before he grins. “You're appalling,” he tells Harry.

“This from Mr I Have Psychological Instincts?”

“I blame Scorpius, he's always on at me about looking for deeper reasons behind crimes and problems. No, I was talking about your subtle attempt to gain easy access to our suspected crime scene by generously accompanying our charming hostess to visit her friend who will be so impressed by having the Boy Who Lived Twice appear on her doorstep that she will doubtless pick up on your desires to have her suggest you search the highly suspicious place next door and give us an easy excuse for what would otherwise be an illegal entry.”

Harry blinks at him. “I lost my way in that sentence after 'subtle', which is funny, because I think you did, too.”

“Ha,” says Draco. But nothing more, because Mrs Witherton is back.

Draco and Harry walk her down the road. Ermintrude Cowslip sees them coming and throws open her door as they walk down the path. “Oh for heaven's sake, Emmeline, you haven't called in the Aurors? I know I behaved poorly, but that's simply ridiculous. Fine, drag an old woman in, leaving her cats to starve and … aren't you Harry Potter?”

'Yes, Miss Cowslip,” Harry says. 

“Well, that's remarkable. I knew your father when he was a lad, lovely boy. Such a bad business, still, well done you, what? Are you here to arrest me? If not, do come in.”

They traipse inside and narrowly avoid another round of tea and cake (ginger this time). Harry instead asks Miss Cowslip about her neighbours, and he and Draco sit back until they have enough complaints to give reason for a quick look next door. They leave the two women to their talk, which sounds as though it will be long and gentle.

“You're shameless,” Draco tells Harry.

Harry grins lecherously, and Draco laughs even as he shakes his head.

The house next door is large and over-renovated. Despite its tasteful front, it is more unwelcoming than Mrs Witherton's had appeared. There is a tall fence with two locked gates. The windows are curtained, and red lights blink on top of surveillance cameras that are none-too-well hidden. Draco thinks this may be intentional, they warn the would-be burglar that they will be seen, that it is too much trouble here and they should go elsewhere.

Draco waves his wand: the cameras go dim and the gates open.

“We're near the extent of my skill with Muggle-tech,” he tells Harry. “If their systems are really complicated, we'll need to bring in some assistance from one of the younger chaps in Mysteries. They're all obsessed with it.”

“It's not as though many of our crimes cross over into the Muggle world,” Harry says supportively. “Far better that you be a genius in the old-school techniques.”

Draco smiles evasively. “Yes, I've been meaning to mention that. I _am_ at the top of the game for Magical Research and Innovation. More new Spells and Potions than anyone else in the department. But that's really where my strengths lie. Everything else I'm quite good at, but not the best. Though certainly the most widely accomplished. But, I’m not really one of the leading curse-breakers. In fact, I’m probably the worst of all the actual curse-breaking staff.”

Harry is surprised. “But they all praise you to the skies!” 

“Oh I’m good enough for most things we come across, but the truth of the matter is that none of them want to risk their genius running around on hare-brained frontline Auror actions. I think they consider me expendable. I should never have employed Fotherington, I think he might be nearly as good as me in the New Things department, and don't think the rest of them haven't noticed. If I ever suddenly disappear, focus your attention on Bakhtin and Amundsen. Now stand still.”

Draco opens the gate slowly and takes an apple from his pocket. He lobs it down the path towards the front door. Nothing happens. He removes the other apple, this time aiming for the porch step. Again, nothing. “All right, it looks as though we'll probably be right to get to the door at least.”

Harry takes the lead here, and walks straight in to ring the doorbell. Although they can hear it buzzing inside, there is no stir within. After a few tries, Harry peers in through the glass beside the door. 

“Quite empty, it doesn't even look lived in. I'm going to open the door.”

“Freezing Charm in place?” Draco asks, then realises who he is talking to and smiles apologetically at Harry. 

“It's about to be, I've also done up my shoelaces and had a healthy breakfast.”

“You had pain au chocolat, egg and bacon.”

“Hush. I'm performing a complex spell.”

“It's an _Alohomora_. You done?”

“Yes …” and Harry stops what was probably going to be a witty riposte mid-breath and instead stares down at the gap in the doorway which he has just opened. “Draco, do you know much about Muggle explosives?”

“Not a lot. I take it that's not the ideal answer?”

“Not as such, no. Do you think a Freezing Charm will be enough to stop something from going bang if I accidentally pull the wires out?”

“Can't really say. Shouldn't you let go of the door?”

“I would, but I'm not convinced I haven't half-pulled the wires loose as things are. So I might stand here holding it very still until we're certain.”

“Ah. I'm just going to pop up to the office and grab Fotherington.”

“Sounds terrific. I'll be here.”

Draco smiles. “Try not to die while I'm gone.”

“You're not really worried.” Harry smiles back. “If you really thought I was likely to die, you'd snog me opportunistically before you went. You have form.”

“Or slap you upside the head for being such an arse.”

“Or that,” Harry agrees. “Don't be long.”

Draco nods, and is gone.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o


	3. Chapter 3

Fotherington shakes his head. “You don't want a Freezing Charm for explosives, sir,” he says. “You want a Time Stop Spell or a good pair of pliers and then you cut the red wire. Or the blue. Sometimes the green.”

“Thanks,” says Harry. “But my arm is getting tired. Could you possibly sort this for me now and run me through the theory later?”

“Sorry, sir.” Fortherington Apparates to the other side of the door. “It's the blue wire on this one, sir. Cutting it now. Right, you can let go.”

The instant that Harry's hand releases the doorknob, Fotherington swings the door open fully, and the remaining wires twang out of whatever had been holding them at the jamb. “It's safe, sir,” says Fortherington. 

“You could have warned me,” Harry says.

“So you and Mr Malfoy could go a distance away and doubt my skills?” Fotherington asks.

“So we could all go to a safe distance and open the door with magic,” Draco says. “We're _wizards_.” He carefully omits the fact that both he and Harry failed to remember that when it came to Apparating to the far side of the door in the first place.

“Yes, sir,” Fotherington says, somewhat apologetically. “Um, is it standard Auror practise to come through the front door?”

“Yes,” says Harry.

“I ask because it's standard Muggle police practise, too. So whoever did this was probably expecting someone from the police or Aurors to come here and had a trap in case they did.”

Harry has reached the same conclusion a moment before and is walking quickly into the next room. “The windows, too. I'm betting the other doors and windows are all wired. Fotherington, there are any number of those little explosives, is it safe here or should we Apparate away and call in the Muggle police?”

Fotherington and Draco follow Harry. The younger man examines the explosives on the windows at the front of the room. “Same type,” he says. “Plastic explosive, electronic detonators. No receivers, they'll only go off if you break the circuit without disabling them first. It's all very old-fashioned, but comparatively safe.”

“Show me how to disable them,” Draco says.

“I'll take a poke around,” says Harry. “See if there's anything worth blowing the place up for, or if it's just an extreme way of slightly lowering Britain's law enforcement population.” 

Draco nods, and turns his attention to Fotherington, who is wielding a specialised hand tool comprising several blades and pliery things along with his wand. “The trick,” says Fotherington, “is to cast a Time Stop Spell first, which considerably lowers the need for accuracy.”

“So it might not have been the blue wire at all?” Draco teases him. 

“No, sir, it's absolutely the blue wire, see how the little light on the detonator is blinking, now I cast the spell, now I cut the wire, now I take the spell off and it's stopped blinking?”

Draco forces himself to wait a moment and level his voice before he says, “Fotherington, why would you take the spell off?”

“To check I cut the right wire, sir.”

“Of course.” The problem with the Department of Mysteries, thinks Draco, is that it attracts a certain sort of person. Thank goodness he rarely lets them out of the office. “Can you explain to me why a device intended to kill people has a safety feature?”

“For the person who puts it in, sir, in case they need to take it back out again. It's a very simple detonator: if you pull out either the red or the black wire, it breaks the circuit that keeps the switch in the off position and sends it to on, sending a charge that explodes the plastic. You cut the blue, and it means the switch is stuck in the off position, so the plastic is safe to handle.”

“Plastic?”

“Plastic explosive, sir. They use it in demolition work. This looks like old-school stuff, PE4 or Semtex, see how it's a bit slick?” Fotherington runs his finger down the side of the off-white sausage of putty that has been stuck along the back of the window frame. He absently sniffs his fingers. “Oh,” he says, and frowns.

“Oh?” Draco does not like that tone.

“It's the new stuff, more explosive than I thought, sir. Not to worry, won't go off without a charge, but if Mr Potter had accidentally triggered it, the whole house would have gone up.”

Draco swallows. “We did think a Freezing Charm would do it, works on burglar alarms and cameras.”

“Yes, sir. Not so much on bombs. Time Stop Spell, you can make them nice and local, just a few inches bigger than the device.”

While they have been speaking, Fotherington has snipped the wires on the other two windows in that room. They move onto the next room, and proceed through the house. After watching the procedure a few times, Draco asks to try it and Fotherington produces another of his multi-ended tools from his pocket.

“Just cast the spell, wait a moment, then snip straight and sure, sir. I think it's always the blue wire, but if you want to check, you can see here that the others are in loosely so they can be pulled out, while it's secure. You want to cut the secure one.”

Draco manages his first two under supervision, and is then left to manage by himself, though they work in the same rooms, for company as much as safety. 

“A question occurs,” says Draco. “If they've wired every door and window, how did they get out after they did the last one?”

Fotherington stops in his work and stares. “That's a good question,” he says.

Draco manages not to smile at the younger man's surprise at being out-thought. “If the top floor isn't rigged, we can assume it was Muggles and a ladder. If it is, we're most likely looking for wizards.”

They finish the room they have been working in, then head upstairs to check. Its windows are free of explosives, and Draco and Fotherington nod with the satisfaction of having solved a mystery, albeit a small one. 

Harry appears through one of the nearby doors. “Paperwork!” he says. “Reams of it! Muggle legal documents! It looks as though there's enough to incriminate all the main players!”

Draco and Fotherington both frown. “What?” asks Harry, no longer smiling.

“So far everyone we have in custody or as a suspect is a witch or wizard,” says Draco. “So why are they using Muggle legal documents? And for that matter, Muggles don't use paper very much these days, do they, Fotherington?”

“No, sir, only for personal things and for really important things that need a signature in pen as well as a retinal scan. Business papers, like dockets and memos are all electronic these days, have been for years.”

“They wouldn't print things out?” Harry asks despondently.

“They might,” Fotherington allows. “Probably not, though.”

Harry leads them back into the room he emerged from, and there are, indeed, reams of paper stacked over a desk, in an incriminating fashion. He picks one up at random. “It looks real …”

Draco and Fotherington join in. Harry is right. There are Title Deeds and certificates of insurance for buildings that would have been destroyed by the flood, orders for steel and building supplies, copies of letters of introduction to members of parliament, bank records. It all looks tremendously real, and there are far more than fifty names here. Draco recognises a number of them as being wizards and witches he has heard of, and others he assumes are Muggles.

“Muggle house, Muggle papers, Muggle explosives, now names … Hindley had only a scent of the whole conspiracy,” he mutters. “I suppose I wouldn't tell a little idiot like that much, either, if I could help it.”

“You're right, sir,” says Fotherington, addressing Harry. “This does all look authentic. But it doesn't make any sense. Why print it out in the first place? And why leave it all here to be found in the second? I know they wired the ground floor up for destructive results, but surely they'd have considered that an Auror might Apparate inside rather than come through the front door.”

Harry looks mildly embarrassed. “I try to stick to procedure,” he says. “When I can. Sets an example.”

Fotherington nods distractedly.

“I think,” says Draco, “that there are two options. Either this material was all left here in the expectation it would combust when the house exploded, or it's a back-up plan, designed to be found and to set us on a false trail if the house did not explode.”

“Which do you think it is?” Fotherington asks, appalled to find himself so interested. 

“It depends on how smart our crooks are,” Harry says. “Draco, can I borrow Fotherington? I want Fawcett and Lester to go through all of these with a fine-tooth comb, and then if Fotherington could add his level of analysis to Fawcett's general suspicion – hush, he's very good when he's sober – and Lester's grasp of intrigue, I think we will have covered all the ways of looking at it.”

Draco glances at his employee, who is looking a little nervous. “Can Lester bring the papers down to Fotherington so we don't need to move any equipment out of the lab?” he asks.

Harry agrees, and Fotherington relaxes. Draco can understand, the Department of Mysteries had been a wonderful refuge for him, too. He had hidden behind its tests and potions, buried in theory and research, until he had felt ready to take the next step back into the wizarding world. And then Harry had come bounding in with a case that needed his expertise, and ever since then his life seemed to involve an unusually high level of hexes, explosions and running after people.

Now that he thought on it, life around Harry was always like that. In comparison, the years that he had spent travelling the world after the war had been quiet and simple. Thank Merlin he had come back. Thinking of travel reminds him of his ex-wife, the ex-wife he had invited to tea this afternoon. Who is due to meet him at Malfoy Manor in five minutes.

“Right, Auror Potter,” Draco says smartly. “It occurs to me that you will need to bring your people in to search this building thoroughly and you'll probably want a few of mine to help you. An Analyst or two and a curse-breaker?”

“Sounds good.”

“In that case, I'll stop by the Ministry to send out a team, then I'm back to my holiday.”

“You're leaving me here with Fotherington?” Harry is confused.

“I'm not meant to be here at all,” Draco reminds him. “And I completely forgot that Helene was popping by this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Harry nods. “I suppose it's a mercy you're running late in England and not still in France.”

“Quite. Fotherington, try not to blow anything up, and whatever you do, do not explain to Mr Potter how to defuse a bomb, else he'll take to believing he can manage on his own and Britain will soon require a new Head Auror due to the old one being aerosolised.”

“Understood, sir. Can I go back to the department when the others arrive?”

“I'd prefer you to stay out here until everything is looked over, but once it is, you'll be of most use back with the Analysis team, since you're familiar with the situation. Research can do without you for a day or two, can't it?”

“Yes, sir. We're testing the new magic-proof structures, all basic stuff that doesn't need me.”

“Good lad. How's that girl of yours?”

Fotherington smiles as he looks down. “We're off for dinner and a film on the weekend, sir, and maybe an Historic House on Sunday if that goes well.”

Draco holds his smile in. “Be sure to offer to pay for everything, because you did the inviting, and to let her if she wants to, because you're fine with people not wanting to be indebted,” he advises. “And let her think she's just a tiny bit smarter than you, but that you're probably really good in a crisis.”

“I am good in a crisis,” says Fotherington. “Usually.”

“You are. Now keep yourself and Potter out of one until everyone else gets here. And with that, I'm off.” Draco raises his hand to Apparate.

“Draco?” Harry forestalls him. “Do me a favour and grab those scrolls from my desk when you're in my office and take them back to your place?”

“How do you know I'll be in your office?”

“You have tea with your ex-wife and four kilograms of expensive French confectionary sitting on my desk.”

Draco laughs as he Disapparates, and has just enough time to notice the look Fortherington is giving him. Another one. But it is too late to explain now.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 

Helene is sitting in the drawing room when Draco arrives home. “I hear you are buying me a house,” she says by way of greeting.

He kisses her cheek. “Word travels fast.”

“Matthieu Floo-called to see if I was happy with your choice of locales before he took your money. I assured him I would keep the entire conversation a complete secret, though you should know that I would prefer Le Marais or St-Germain, I'm encouraging my bohemian side these days.” She winks at Draco with good humour.

Draco laughs at the wink, and clutches his hands to his chest. “I was a fool to divorce you,” he declares.

“I divorced you! But of course you are a fool. Now, why are you so late and did you bring me any presents from Paris?”

“I've been solving crimes, and macarons and a little silk scarf woven by that new witch designer.”

“Marielle?”

“Yes, she's the one you like, isn't she?”

Helene makes grabbing motions with her hands, and Draco laughingly tells her that he has left all his packages on the hall table. With a dramatic sigh, she leaps up from her settee and follows him out. 

“What are all the scrolls? Are you working on a new project?”

“Ah, no, they're Harry's. He's staying here for a few days to help cheer up the kids while Ron's in hospital. It's practical that way.”

Helene is nodding sincerely. “Absolutely, a purely practical decision. I might have to visit, too, since my favourite handsome men will all be here.”

“There is nothing going on, despite what you and half the wizarding world seems to think.”

“Of course not. You are simply friends. Now give me my present!”

Draco is laughing as he hands her a small, beautifully wrapped box. Helene opens it and exclaims with glee, before kissing his cheek and knotting the delicate square of intricately woven fabric about her throat. She twirls and tilts her head from one side to the other to show off the gift to best advantage. 

“I am irresistible, yes?” she asks.

Draco smiles. “You always were. I was so in love with you,” he tells her. 

“I remember,” she replies with a laugh. “You were young, and foolish, and I was the most attractive person you knew.”

“You still are!” he says, gallantly.

“Liar. But I would not trade my time with you, nor our son. You drove me mad at times, but more often you made me happy.”

“We made the right decision to separate though?” It is almost a statement, but the slightest questioning inflection remains.

Helene swats him with the empty scarf box. “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course we did! I would have _killed_ you long ago if we had not. I would have felt _awful_ about it, too. And it wasn’t just this thing you apparently do not have with Harry, you were _endlessly_ irritating.”

Draco is laughing too much to be annoyed. “Come on, tea and macarons while things are quiet. You can tell me your adventures and I'll fill you in on what's been happening at this end. You got my owl about Ron?”

“Yes, and I have written to him and Hermione, I will visit them when he has had a few days to recover.”

“I'm headed over in a few hours to pick up the children. Come with me, it will be a short visit if you're worried about tiring him out.”

Helene gives a short shake of her head. “More worried about myself. You know I don't respond well to hospitals. I panic, or become sarcastic.”

Draco pats her arm. “Be sarcastic, you'll fit right in.”

She smiles. “Dreadful man. Come on, I will make you tea, or some hot chocolate, and you can tell me about your day.”

Draco is not sure that he can, but he follows her nonetheless.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 

About five pm, Lester reappears at Malfoy Manor. 

Draco meets him in the hallway. “Make it quick,” he says. “We're off to the hospital shortly, I was expecting you an hour ago.”

“I was … delayed,” says Lester uncomfortably. He evidently does not wish to talk about it.

“Tell me more,” says Draco.

Lester smiles grimly. “I Apparated to the wrong house, where I was accosted by two tipsy elderly witches who told me what a lovely lad I was and how wonderful you and Mr Potter were. It took four cups of tea and half a cake before I could get away.”

“Lavatory?” Draco offers.

“I stopped off home on the way here. Man was not meant to consume that much crystallised ginger.”

“I have French confectionary …”

“No thank you, sir.” Lester mostly conceals his slight shudder. “Fotherington asked me to pop in and tell you that he's gone back to the Ministry. Fawcett and I are going to work with him down in Mysteries, see if we can find anything in that mound of papers. He said to tell you that he'll be putting in for a day off soon, because he thinks he might be there all night. And maybe tomorrow night, too.”

Draco shakes his head. “Stun him if you have to, but see the lad gets some sleep, would you?”

“I will, sir,” Lester grins. “One other thing, do you have anything planned for the kids this weekend? Only I was going to treat Scorpius and Albus to lunch, catch up with them and see what their plans are for the summer.”

“Slothing about, I believe. I had nothing special organised, I think they'd be thrilled if you asked them. And thank you for checking with me first.”

“Not at all, I know how annoying it is to have someone gazump your plans.”

“Ah.” Draco smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that, I know you were organising a warrant through all the proper channels, but we were on the scene, and there was reasonable cause, and … well, as things turned out it was all for the best, just imagine if a Muggle policeman had come along.”

“Yes, sir. And I blame Mr Potter, sir.” The corners of Lester's mouth twitch upwards. “The Minister was saying that it probably wasn't worth his time signing the paperwork, just as your message reached us. He laughed, sir. Mrs Granger-Weasley is going to be cross, though.”

Draco nods. “She always forgives Harry. I know we should be more by the book. We're getting there. When I was a lad, things at the Ministry were … well, you probably studied that at school. They are better now, even if they're not ideal.”

“Yes, sir. They're getting there, sir. Before I go, Mr Potter asked me to give you this.” Lester pulls a small metal trinket from his pocket. “One of his Aurors found it in the gutter at the crime scene. He's not sure it's related to the crime, and we've not found any evidence on it to link it to anyone, but he thought you might have time to see if the symbols on it connect to any Muggle organisation.”

“I'm on _holiday_ ,” Draco protests. 

“Yes, sir, he said you'd say that, and that it would give you something to do when you got bored.”

Draco looks at the object. It's less than an inch long and more or less a shield shape. At some point in the past there has been an image etched on it, but it was been largely worn away. A deeper etching or engraving remains, two decorative letters, BC, interlinked. At the top, there is a hole, with scratching about it, Draco guesses from a ring that has attached the trinket to something. “I'll look into it,” he says. “But it would be faster to have Eccleston or Ackeley back at the Ministry take care of it. I'll drop it in tomorrow for them, and keep a copy for myself.”

“Thanks, sir. Right, I'm back in, see if I can convince Fotherington to let us out before nine.”

“Lester,” Draco stops him. “Sebastien's only a few years older than you. Just tell him to shut up when he bosses you about.”

“I would, sir, but I have the feeling that he's a contact worth cultivating. And also that he could do something ghastly to me with no way of it being traced back to him.”

Draco thinks for a moment. “He definitely has the technical skills, but it's not in his nature.”

“Good to know, sir. I'll see if I can bribe him with dinner at the pub.”

“Ask him about Alice Peters. And you can give him a few tips, you're back to seeing that girl of yours, aren't you?”

“Mari? Yes, we're thinking about moving in together.”

“Good for you, Lester. Right, off you go, I need to get to the hospital.”

“Say hello to Mr Weasley for me.”

Draco promises he will and shoos the young man out. While he has been busy, Helene has absconded, and it takes ten minutes and promises of a slap-up dinner before he can convince her to come to the hospital with him. 

On arrival at St Mungo's, he is glad he has made the effort. Ron's room has been filled with bright blankets and little touches from home, there is a table near his bed piled high with treats, and he is surrounded by relatives and friends. One look at Rose's pinched and slightly panicked face tells Draco the full story.

“Oh now, this is ridiculous,” Helene declares. “Have all of you been sitting in here all day exuding your appalling Anglo-Saxon stench? This room smells of forced jollity and cabbage. Out! The lot of you! Out into the fresh air and a good walk! He's not dying! Out!”

Every face but Ron's and Hermione's gapes at Helene. Ron's is torn between laughter and worship, while Hermione is mouthing thank you. Molly Weasley starts to speak, but then thinks better of it and tuts disapprovingly instead, and begins clucking the children out while sundry brothers and other Weasley connections mutter, but depart before Helene can glare at them. In under a minute the room is down to Ron, Hermione, Helene and Draco, and Helene is flinging open windows to let the warm afternoon breeze in.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Now, how are you feeling?”

Ron lets his laugh out. It is not the Weasley bellow that Draco has grown used to, but he is clearly stronger than yesterday. “Much better,” he says after a minute. “Now I can confess I feel wretched. I've been keeping a stiff upper lip since everyone rolled in at ten, it's been exhausting!”

Helene rummages in her small, fashionable purse and begins to extract large parcels from it. “Toiletries,” she says of the first one. “The expensive sort, because men never treat themselves, but it is pleasant to feel pampered when you are not well. Some sweet treats that you should hide for yourself and Hermione, Draco went to Paris this morning. And I hope you will forgive the familiarity, but I bought pyjamas. You are the same size as my father. Soft fine cotton for these warm days, and a pair of flannel ones in case it turns cold. When you are stuck in a bed for a few days, the fabric that is normally fine becomes stiff and unpleasant. These will be soothing. Shall I run you a bath?”

Hermione is laughing now. “Do,” she says, “he could do with one. And I'll wash your hair.” She addresses the last part of this to her husband. “You still smell like Thames, and it's not appealing.”

Helene is already in the bathroom, and the sound of running water is quickly heard. 

“No wonder Scorpius has always been so perfectly ordered,” Ron observes.

“She doesn't like hospitals,” Draco explains. “They make her nervous and bossy.”

“Thank goodness, I've been smiling bravely all day and I just wanted to get clean and have a nap.”

“Why didn't you say?” Hermione asks, exasperated. 

“Everyone was being so kind.”

Hermione throws her hands up in the air, and Draco smiles. He has been where Ron is, and knows the responsibility of the invalid to quell the worries of all their loved ones. In many ways, it is the easier place to be. Save for the pain, and the near-death.

Helene reappears. “Right. Not too hot, because it is a warm day and there's no point making you all sweaty. The towels were simply awful, but I had a few in my bag from home, so I've left them in there for you, as there is no reason you should suffer any more. Do you have any foods you would like, or novels you wish to read? I will tell everyone you are sleeping and not to be disturbed. What time should we bring the children in tomorrow?”

“Relax,” Ron tells her with a smile. “And thank you. Telling everyone I am asleep sounds like a terrific idea. Meanwhile, how have you been? Are you camping at the Manor with the marauding hordes?”

“I am considering it. Mr Potter is staying there, you know. He is always pleasant to look at. But then, I do not think he is there to see me, do you?”

Draco closes his eyes in the very faint hope he will open them and this conversation will not be happening around him.

Ron and Hermione laugh, and Ron insists Helene sit down so that they can chat briefly. “We hardly seem to actually talk, only exchange gossip about the children.”

“Well,” Helene says with a smile, “I am interested in fashion and the arts, you are interested in legal matters, and since so few designers and poets are arrested, we have had little to chat about.”

“Hermione's interested in fashion,” Ron says.

His wife pulls a face. “I'm _theoretically_ interested in fashion. In practise, I have several nice frocks and then a whole lot of things that are easy to scramble into when running late.”

Helene laughs. “I know _exactly_ what you mean. Do you know the trick? A lovely coat, or some accessories that you can throw on just before you Apparate. I match mine up into little sets and keep them together in separate drawers, that way it looks as though I have spent ages on something that takes a minute to take out and throw on.”

“I'll steal that idea,” Hermione says.

“Not at all, it's a gift. And are you staying here again tonight?”

Hermione nods. “I could go home, but I don't sleep well without snoring and muttering these days.”

“Then I hope you do not mind, but I have popped a few little things in for you, too.” From her purse she draws out a cache of toiletries, a fetching bathrobe and a pair of particularly foolish and high slippers. “Totally impractical, I know, but I thought they would make you both smile.”

“They're _darling_! Ooh! Is that some of Narcissa's skin cream?”

“Yes, she sends it with her love.”

“Do give her mine. She's terribly generous, it's so expensive, but worth it, just look at her.”

“She told me to tell you that they send her crates of it because she is so liberal with namedropping the brand among her friends, she is more than happy to share. And that I was to shake my head in disgust at the fact women have to be so much more conscious of their looks than men do, especially as we age.”

“Well, it is sexist,” says Ron, loyally.

“It is merely a sign that men are hopeless,” Helene teases. “If you had an ounce of care for us you would spend a fortune on potions to stay beautiful so that we would still enjoy looking at you when you are aged. Even the lovely Harry Potter is starting to crinkle around the edges, and soon I will have to make friends with younger men so I can look at them. Life is so tiresome.”

Her audience laughs, as she has meant them to, and Hermione tells her that she is dreadful. “But that's an excellent packing charm you've used,” she concedes.

“Surely you recognise it,” says Helene. “It's modified from the one you outlined in your article on the physics of space-altering charms.”

“You read that?”

“Naturally, my life is not entirely spent reading _Sorcière a la mode_ , you know. But I thought that you could have gone further talking about compartmentalising within the altered space.”

Hermione nods. “Yes, I agree. I had to write to a very strict deadline and word count, and I'm still refining some of my thinking there. We should sit down and talk on it.”

“Absolutely. Should I steal you away from here for lunch tomorrow?”

“I should …”

“Go!” says Ron. “One of us has to get some fresh air this week. And it will be easier to convince my mother to leave if you do.”

Hermione pokes him in the arm. “I was going to say that I should go home and grab a change of clothes so I have something nice to wear.”

“Oh, good.”

“I will see you at one,” says Helene. “We should go now, leave you two to bathing. It is quite a large bath, I noticed.” To Draco's horror, she winks. Worse, Hermione winks back and Ron looks hopeful. 

“See you both soon,” he says. “Talk more tomorrow. On trail of bad guys, hope to have result soon, good bye!”

Helene follows, and good byes are called after them. Once the door is closed, Draco kisses the top of his ex-wife's head. “You were magnificently mad,” he tells her. “Just what the doctor ordered. Now do you want me to call you a Knight Taxi or would you rather come back and stay with all of us? I will invite Harry swimming if you're at the manor, you could be in luck.”

She links her arm around his. “I think we should host a party. Invite all the Aurors and your good-looking Unspeakables, I know you have three or four. Oh, and that Nordic god of a curse-breaker, Amundsen.”

“He hates me.”

“Yes, but I feel sure he will like me given the chance. August, before the children go back to school. And it should be a fundraiser, why not for the hospital, since they spend so much time looking after your people. I will invite all my friends and they will donate large sums to stand near attractive, powerful men. And women, too. Clothilde in particular will pay for that.”

Draco has a momentary image of Helene's friend Clothilde meeting Hannah Abbott and can't quite decide if it could be a beautiful thing or a path to certain disaster. 

“Anyway, I will come back to the manor with you. I would like to see our son and his young man. Is it really not an intrusion?”

“It's really not.”

Helene pats Draco's arm. “I like you so much better now we are divorced.”

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Harry appears at Malfoy Manor well after the rest of the visiting party has decamped on adventure to rescue one of the aged peacocks from the top of the Crupmaster's cottage. Shouts of laughter have been drifting across the garden to where Draco is sitting in the conservatory for more than an hour now. The brisk trot of Harry's footsteps as they come through the house towards the door is not unexpected, but the time is.

“Sit down,” Draco says, as Harry comes through the door. “Everyone is outside, but we have supper for you if you want it. And there are even a few macarons left in that box – I hid it from mother.”

Harry drops into the other comfortable chair that looks out over the garden through the glass. He takes a macaron, and the glass of Ogden's Old Draco pours for him. 

“Any results yet? Or have you spent the evening with Kingsley lecturing you on protocol?”

“Guess what was in those papers?” Harry asks.

“False leads?”

“That's what I was expecting,” Harry agrees, “but Lester, Fawcett and Fotherington went through them carefully and it's all authentic, incriminating stuff that ties in perfectly with the intelligence we've been able to piece together from every other direction. Fawcett's coordinating teams to go out and pick the culprits up tonight. They're probably bringing them in even now.”

“That's … unexpected.” 

“Yes. And a deeply stupid thing for apparently smart people to have done. I am suspicious.”

Draco nods his agreement. “Still Muggle and wizarding details together?”

“Yes. And a much longer list of people who appear to have been roped into a scam to help fund the whole thing. Mostly Muggles, that list. They were promised excellent returns, but expected it to be made on a normal property development. Not rebuilding after a national disaster. I think that we can add fraud charges to the rest.”

“Good work. Have you found the one who's responsible for all those explosives?”

“We'll know tomorrow when we've interviewed them all. Tonight, Fawcett is pulling them out of their nice warm beds to get what sleep they can in Ministry cells, and we'll start fresh at nine.”

“If you get out of bed early enough.”

Harry leans out of his chair and looks around the conservatory. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asks after a moment.

“I'm finding it hard to believe that no one has walked in just as you said something that sounds compromising.”

Draco smiles ruefully. “It's your ears, Potter. They take these perfectly normal, ordered statements and turn them into crazy talk.”

“It's the universe, convincing everyone we're shagging until you give in and decide we ought to be.”

Draco smiles and shakes his head. “Really, it's a wonder Lily has any manners at all. She must have inherited them from her mother. Though it's clear James takes after you.”

“James?” Harry laughs. “That little monkey had a harem of girlfriends when he was four and at Miss Miggle’s Magical Nursery.”

“You're right. Clearly you are nothing alike, my chaste friend. By my count you’ve only ever kissed three people.”

“I’ve kissed more than three people,” Harry protests. 

Draco cannot help himself. “Oh yes? My count has you at Cho, Ginny and me. And I am not talking pecks on cheeks. Go on, I want names.”

Harry takes a slug of his drink. “Ron,” he says.

“Ron?!”

“It was a long time ago. We were drunk, Hermione slipped me five Galleons. We’re not allowed to talk about it.”

“Confirms everything I ever thought about the three of you.” Draco thinks for a moment before he adds: “Especially Granger.”

“It was horrible,” Harry muses. “He kept swilling his mouth out with whisky – which was clearly an over-reaction, it's not as though I used tongue – and she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.” 

Draco knows how Hermione felt; he has dropped his own head back against his chair and is laughing immoderately.

“Later on, I asked Hermione if she'd had any vague ideas of a threesome, and she just started laughing again. Actual tears ran down her face. She's one of my very best friends, but I'll never fully understand how her mind works.”

“Never change, Harry,” Draco gasps, clutching his sides.

Harry smiles as he stands up. He ruffles Draco's hair in passing. “I won't. I'm off to grab some food, then bed. Oh, hello Mrs Malfoy.”

Of course.

“Hello, Harry,” says Narcissa. “I thought I'd see if I could snaffle any more macarons before I turned in myself.”

"That's early for you, usually you're up late teaching my children how to do something astronomical or astronomically expensive."

"I still say that James would make an excellent racing flyer, and it would only cost about one hundred thousand Galleons to set up an international league." She is teasing, and Harry laughs agreeably. 

"Leave it to him in your will," he suggests.

"Oh he'll be _ancient_ by then," Narcissa counters. "Off you go, I am going to sit with my son."

"Good night, then."

"Night, Harry," Draco calls, pushing away the vague idea he had of following him for a spot of supper, because his mother will never believe that he didn't continue following Harry for the bed part of the evening. "You're a dreadful old woman," he tells her.

"I know!" She peers about until she spots the patisserie box that Draco has not hidden well enough. "But you have to admit, as bad influences go, I am a benign and charming one."

"You are," Draco agrees. "Even if you are one who has almond sugar crusting the front of her robes."

"Be quiet, or I shall start forgetting your name and feigning incontinence. And since my clothes are far too nice, that will involve chamber pots and effort and you know how much I hate that sort of thing."

"Not just a spell?"

"Oh Darling, who has a spell for manufacturing _urine_?"

After a pause, they both say "George Weasley" together and laugh quietly.

"How is Ronald Weasley?" Narcissa asks. "Helene said he looked tired and drawn, but as though he will recover. Is that right?"

Draco nods. "It will take a little time, but he'll be fine."

"Is Hermione well? Did Helene pass on my best wishes?"

"She is, and Helene did. Hermione was thrilled about the skin cream, she was touched you thought of her."

Narcissa smiles. "And what about Harry?"

"He's upset, thinks that Ron being hurt is his fault somehow. And this case keeps getting stupider. Now it looks as though there are Muggles involved, so we'll need to see if anyone's been breaching the Statute of Secrecy, as well as everything else. It's a lot to juggle."

"That's not what I meant." Narcissa reaches across the space between their chairs and takes Draco's hand. "That man loves you"

"He …" 

Draco starts again. "It's complicated, Mother. There was a thing, and then there was another thing, and now we're both middle-aged and alone and he thinks it would be a good idea, but I think he's probably just lonely and harking back to high points of his youth. And since there were only about three of those, it's all completely out of proportion."

"You love him."

"I love a lot of people. At least ten. Certainly nine."

"Draco, why do you make things so difficult?"

"It's how I was raised." Narcissa squeezes his hand and shakes her head at him, so he tells her the truth. "I don't want things to change"

"Why would they change?"

"I loved Helene, now we're divorced."

"So? You were in love, you had a beautiful life together and a wonderful son, you grew apart, and now you are marvellous friends."

"You forgot the part where we were vicious and hateful to each other. If it hadn't been for Scorpius, I'm not sure we ever would have spoken again."

"So? You and Harry will argue, it's what you do. Your sons will insist you keep talking, even if you come together and then move apart again. You're inventing difficulties."

"Mother …" Draco sighs. "Please. I'm happy with things as they are. I know what I'm doing."

This squeeze of his hand has a different feel, Draco knows it is his mother's version of an apology. Out across the garden comes the tortured scream of a peacock that has been rescued from a spot it did not particularly wish to be rescued from. 

"Should we head down and see who's been pecked?" Narcissa asks.

Draco stands and offers her his arm. "My money is on Hugo, especially given I suspect he was the one who spelled the damned thing up there in the first place."

"I have always meant to get rid of them, but nostalgia stops me every time."

Draco smiles. "They make us look tremendously sane by comparison."

Narcissa's laughter drifts back towards the house through the open garden door for at least a full minute.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Thursdays are usually quiet days in Draco's life. When there are no unexpected disasters to occupy his time, they tend to be days of peaceful research and paperwork at the Ministry. So it is a minor shock to the system to find himself in charge of six unruly young people in Diagon Alley.

"Fortescue's!" Lily is demanding. Despite the eponymous ice-cream manufacturer having not been seen for a quarter of a century, the parlour still bears its old name, and every year or two the _Prophet_ reports a possible sighting of Florean.

Rose and James support Lily's plan, as it will allow them to sit together with ankles entwined for a good half hour. Hugo is loudly complaining that he has developed lactose intolerance, while Scorpius and Albus are agitating for a visit to Abercrombie's Astronomy Market.

Draco cuts them off. "Ice-creams first, sorbet for Hugo, then you can all have some shopping time, while I hide."

The sundaes have only just made it to the table when Fotherington bursts through the door. Draco ducks under the table, but he is too late, and is rewarded with the sight of an upside-down Fotherington looking at him below the tabletop, concerned. 

"Have you lost something, sir?"

"I'm on holiday," Draco complains.

"Yes, sir, I'm here for ice-cream for me and Lester. We're still working our way through all those papers."

"Oh." Draco looks at his shoe. "Excellent! Laces still tight, I was worried." He takes the conversation back above board. "I thought you'd established that the papers were all authentic and suspects had been hauled in accordingly."

"Yes, sir, but I think there's more information we can learn from them. Doesn't it bother you that they exist at all? And that they were so conveniently there?"

Draco can't help himself. "It does."

"I'm heading back to do some analysis now. And I've been working on the explosives, too. I'll let you know my findings as soon as I have them if you'll tell me where you're off to next."

Scorpius is shaking his head, but Albus and James have that Pottery look about them, where things can be put to one side for the sake of a case and no one thinks it odd. "I'm on holiday," Draco repeats weakly. 

"Dad," Scorpius says, resigned. "We're old enough to take care of ourselves. We can shop for a few hours. I won't tell Mum. And we'll all keep Lily and Hugo from destroying anything."

Draco frowns. Then looks from Rose and James to Scorpius and Albus. "You four are going to pair off, one set of you take Lily and the other Hugo."

"Dibs Lily," says Rose quickly.

Hugo isn't even surprised. 

Draco turns back to Fotherington. "I'm going to finish eating, then I'll pop by the Ministry to see how you're going. Try not to get dairy product over any of the more expensive instruments."

"No sir. Hope to have some results for you by the time you get there."

"Good lad. Off you go."

James waits until Fotherington has picked up his order and left before he speaks. "Should we be worried?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Only your person mentioned explosives."

Draco nods. "Fotherington is one of my leading young researchers. We're working on a case for your father where some wizards and some Muggles seem to have planned a crime together. There were some explosives left at one of the crime scenes, but it's nothing to be worried about."

"Is this connected to the attack at the Barrier?" Albus asks.

"It is. It looks as though either that conspiracy was broader than most members realised, or else there was another one behind it."

"Why did they have explosives?" Scorpius asks. 

"To get rid of evidence," Draco replies quickly. "That's all." And while that may not be wholly true, it is close enough.

Scorpius looks at him closely. "So they're not targetting anyone?"

"Sometimes criminals are just in it for the classic motives, Scorpius. In this case it was money. Certainly there could have been an horrific death toll, but we were lucky. Now it's just a case of unwinding all the threads and catching all the culprits. Unspeakables will find the clues, the Aurors will go out on the hunt, and Legal will ensure that the criminals are locked away. Nothing to fret about for any of you, only for them. It's not always a personal vendetta, Son."

"Not always," Scorpius smiles. 

"Eat up, your sundae is melting."

A good three-quarters of an hour pass before Draco makes it into the Ministry. 

As he comes out of the lift, he runs into Bakhtin and Amundsen battling each other with brooms. They pause in their fencing to let him pass through the corridor. 

"Aren't you on holiday?" Amundsen asks, as Draco goes to open the door.

"Yes, but you're not."

"Testing an hypothesis," says Bakhtin quickly. "You inspired us at the Barrier and now we are trying to see whether Amundsen is correct when he postulates that physical danger focusses the mind."

"Get back to work soon, or I will administer a more effective experimental model," Draco says, stepping through. 

The Entrance Chamber spins about him and he steps through the door that leads to the Room of Futures. 

“Sir!” Fotherington's voice sings out the minute Draco walks in.

“Any results, Fotherington?”

“The test results are just in. The paper is Muggle, but the ink isn't.”

Draco stops. "Magical ink? But you said the documents were real."

"They are, sir."

Lester joins in. "We've checked them against the bank records and titles, every single one of them is authentic, it's just …"

"They were printed using a wand, not a printer," Fotherington finishes.

Draco comes over to look at their results. "So, what, someone's gone to a Muggle's house and stood there spelling information out of a computer?"

"They might have, sir, but they could have done it even more easily." Fotherington holds up the ballpoint pen that he insists is faster than a quill. “You could copy everything that was in those files wirelessly onto the key in this pen 25,000 times, at least, and all in about two seconds. There's probably a spell for doing that, but I've never bothered to find out because it's so easy to just use technology. Then you can take it anywhere you like. As for printing it out, all you'd need to do is encode computer styles into your spell, otherwise it's as simple as an Automatic Letter Charm.”

"What about the explosives?"

"They're one hundred per cent Muggle," Fotherington says. "The detonators are a bit old-fashioned, though the plastic explosive is new. Fawcett is off with Muggle Liaison now, talking to their police about where someone would source that sort of thing. He says it's likely that they will be able to come up with a very short list of suspects."

"Excellent work," says Draco. "I'm very impressed with both of you, and with Fawcett."

Lester beams. Fotherington frowns. "Really?"

"Yes, Sebastien."

"But we haven't solved the case yet."

Draco shakes his head. "Relax, you young perfectionist. Cases aren't solved by single discoveries. They're solved by the piling up of facts. You've given us some excellent details today. Both of you have."

Fotherington smiles then. 

"I do praise him occasionally," Draco tells Lester. 

"You do," Fotherington agrees. "Last December and the March before that."

Draco holds in a laugh. "That was remiss of me, Sebastien. I meant to praise you on Tuesday, too. You did excellent work at the Barrier."

"That's a significant increase in praise frequency, sir."

"Try not to let it go to your head. Right. Thanks for the update. Can the two of you write up your report and get copies off to Harry and whoever's running Legal while Granger-Weasley is away?"

"Savage, sir," says Lester.

"Really?" The word slips out. "No wonder you're trailing after me, Lester."

"Oh that's instructions, sir. When all this turned out not to have any connection to my Spanish case, he told me to make sure you and Mr Potter didn't accidentally kill anyone."

"We never _kill_ people," Draco protests.

"No, but I was also to look out for maiming, terrifying, detaining and dropping off things."

"Savage can talk, he was all over the plan to use Abbott in the Hindley interrogation."

"Yes, sir, that's just this side of ethical, according to Mr Savage. I'm to make sure everyone stays on the right side."

"We …" Draco is about to protest when he remembers what he had wanted to do to Hindley's face the other night. He has always been able to stop himself, as has Harry, but perhaps one of the reasons they can is that they know there are eyes watching. This is, after all, what the Ministry should be. Accountable, self-policing, and all those other words he has used in meetings since he became a department head. "We appreciate the extra set of eyes. And the help along the way."

Lester smiles. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to tell Mr Savage."

"And I'll let Mrs Granger-Weasley know her lectures on procedure have actually had an effect in her department. She'll be thrilled."

Lester pretends he is hurt, but Draco catches the smile before the younger man looks away. 

"When we tested the explosives …" Fotherington begins.

Draco cuts him off. "You _what_?"

"Tested the explosives, sir."

"Here? In the Ministry? Muggle explosives?"

"Just a very small amount. In a safety chamber. I did loads of research to make sure it was safe first."

"Fotherington …"

"Are you taking back the praise, sir?"

"Just tell me what you discovered."

Fotherington walks over to the other side of the room, where a small cube of transparent material stands, its inside smeared with black residue. "I modified the detonator to work on a timer and used one fiftieth of the explosive amount that was in each original charge."

"And?"

"And that house would have been blown to smithereens, along with several on either side. But the detonators are very robust and hard to set off unless you're really trying, so I'm not certain it was actually meant to blow up. I had an idea for another test … "

"Sebastien," Draco keeps his voice calm. "Did you keep all the explosives from that house?"

"Oh no, sir, that wouldn't be safe. I only took one charge and three detonators." Fotherington pulls a bag out from under the table behind them and opens it to show his stash. "Fawcett handed over the rest to the Muggles for safe disposal."

Draco holds out his hand, and Fotherington gives him the bag. 

"I've written up a report, sir," Fotherington says in a small voice.

"Thank you. And don't be nervous, I'm disappointed in Lester, not in you. You were acting in the proper spirit of scientific inquiry, whereas Lester should know better. What did you use to make the box?"

Fotherington pulls his report from the table behind him, cheerful again. "Some of the MPP that came in for trial. Its stronger than we thought it would be, so if you can hold it together with a charm from the outside, it makes a good testing vessel."

"MPP?" asks Lester.

"Magic-Proof Polymer," Draco explains. "It's spelled to create an area that stops all magic _inside_ an enclosed zone, while not affecting what happens outside the enclosure. We've been warding off areas so that we can use Muggle tech inside the Ministry, but it takes up a lot of time and energy. A room of MPP will give us all the research space we need. And, apparently, solve some of our other testing difficulties as well. Good work, Fotherington, no you can't have your bag back."

Draco shrinks the bag, and Fotherington's report, and pops them both into his pocket. "I'm off to find a band of ravening adolescents. Anything else you need before I'm gone?"

"Are you going back to Wiltshire? I'm still working on the ink. Where should we send updates if we have any?"

"I'm going to pop in and say hello to Ron first, then I'll be home with the hordes. Try to keep it to a minimum, I'm on holiday. And yes, I will say hello to the Weasleys for both of you."

Amundsen and Bakhtin are still battling as Draco leaves the office, but, as a mark of respect, they have brought out a junior researcher to take notes.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The door of Abercrombie's Astronomy Market jingles merrily as it opens, thanks to a string of bells looped across its back. Scorpius is standing in the middle of the shop comparing two telescopes, and explaining to Hugo why bigger is not always better and how that joke wasn't even accurately smutty, let alone funny. Draco assumes Albus is somewhere among the shelves.

"Can I help you Mr Malfoy?" 

The owner, Euan Abercrombie, appears from the back of the shop, books in hand.

"Just here to pick up the boys," Draco says. "We're off to St Mungo's to see Hugo's father."

Abercrombie nods. "Please pass on my best wishes to Mr Weasley."

"I will," Draco says with a polite smile. He knows that Abercrombie does not really like him, hasn't since school, but the man has been polite to him in recent years. Whether because of Draco's position at the Ministry or because of the amount of money Malfoys have spent in his shop, it may never be clear. Since the feeling is mutual, Draco does not care. 

"Dad, can we come back next week?" Scorpius asks. "I want to talk with Grandmother before I make up my mind."

"Yes, of course we can. Hugo, pleased to see you haven't done anything appalling. Where's your cousin hiding?"

Hugo looks about vaguely. "He was right here a minute ago …"

Scorpius wanders through the maze of shelving that lines the back half of the shop. Draco pops his head into the storeroom at the back, and Abercrombie, showing willing, goes through into the private parts of the shop. After a minute, they begin to call out Albus's name. There is no answer.

Draco is not panicking. At least, he is not letting Scorpius and Hugo see that he is panicking. Let alone Big Ears Abercrombie.

Scorpius, on the other hand, is looking decidedly worried. "I wasn't paying attention, I was focussed on the telescopes …"

"Deep breaths," Draco tells him. "It's Albus, he probably saw something fantastically interesting, went off in pursuit, and is even now rushing back to tell us about it."

"I'll keep an eye out here," Abercrombie says. "Which way are you headed if he shows up?"

"Back to Fortescue's," says Draco. "We're meeting the others there, he's probably just gone on ahead, grew tired of waiting."

"Very probably," Abercrombie agrees. "My daughter Cressida gave me a heart attack last week, just like the one you're having, I found her having a nap under the blackout curtains after a quarter-hour of looking. I'm sure he'll turn up." 

"Thank you, Euan," says Draco, not disliking the man in that instant.

Hugo and Scorpius run ahead as they make their way back up Diagon Alley. Draco looks about with more care, into every shop, every corner and every shadow. He is beginning to fear that he has lied earlier, and that someone is targetting them, or at least targetting Harry, through the cruellest method possible. He forces himself to take deep breaths. 

"Albus!" Scorpius shouts ahead of him. And, thank you Merlin, the lad appears, bright-cheeked and bubbling with news. 

"I was just coming to get you! I saw Aurors, so I followed them. There's been a break-in at Uncle George's!"

"Mr Malfoy thought you'd been kidnapped," Hugo tells him.

Before Draco can say anything, Scorpius has punched his boyfriend in the arm. "I thought you'd wandered off without saying a word to me like an inconsiderate bastard."

"Sorry." Albus takes Scorpius's arm. "But Uncle George is furious and the place is crawling with MLE. Come and see!"

Draco nods his assent, and the two boys run off. Hugo looks after them, then back to Draco, who waves him off in pursuit. Alone for a moment, Draco leans against a streetlamp and sighs with relief. He rummages in his pockets and pulls out a notebook and pencil. There was a time, not long ago, when he carried nothing in his pockets out of respect for the lines of his clothes. Now they are authentically cluttered. He cannot remember if he picked this habit up from Harry or Ron. Both, probably.

He scrawls two quick notes, then calls over a passing boy he vaguely recognises as the son of some Ministry employee or other. "What's your name?" he asks the child.

"Bradley. Why?"

"Can I hire you for five minutes to run a couple of errands?"

The boy smiles. "If it's only five minutes, I can help you out for free."

Draco smiles back at him and hands over the notes. "Can you deliver this one to Mr Abercrombie at Abercrombie's Astronomy Market, and do you know James Potter?"

"Of course I do."

"Excellent. He should be at Fortescue's. Can you give this note to him? And do take a few Galleons, not as payment but just to make my pockets lighter."

"There's no need, really."

"I insist."

"Cheers. One for Abercrombie and one for James, yeah?"

"That's right, James first if you don't mind."

"You're right!" The boy has already run off in the direction of the ice-creamery. And if he delays there to spend some of the money Draco has just given him, it will not cause a problem as the note to Abercrombie merely sends thanks, and news that Albus has been found.

In fact, the lad is so fast that James, Rose and Lily are running into view just as Draco arrives at Weasley's. Albus has not exaggerated, the premises are filled with MLE personnel. George himself is standing out the front, in a fury, a dark bruise covering one side of his forehead and a red flush of anger working its way up his cheeks. 

His look turns to relief when he sees Draco. "Thank Merlin you're here!" he shouts. "Come and take some samples before these numbskulls wipe away all traces of the thieves."

Draco hurries down the street. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I was in the labs out the back when I was jumped. They didn't hear a thing in the shop. When I came to, thousands of Galleons worth of new products were missing." George closes the remaining distance between them and lowers his voice to a whisper. "Including some on order from the Ministry. Your designs, I'm afraid."

"Bloody hell," Draco mutters. "All right." He raises his voice so he can be heard above the officials and the crowd who have gathered for the show. "If everyone could leave the premises immediately, that includes all MLE personnel. We'll need to run a few tests and see if we can find any traces left behind by the perpetrators. Won't be long. Give you a chance to interview this lot and see if there are any witnesses. And if someone could run up to the Leaky and order a few urns of tea and trays of pies, I'll settle the bill later."

George mutters some words of thanks and Draco pats his shoulder gently. "Have someone look at that bump on your head. Radford's over there, he's good at Healing."

Scorpius and Albus are up near the window, talking to the two young wizards who work in the shop. No one, it seems, heard or saw a thing. Draco apologises and pulls Albus aside. "I think we need your father here," he says. "Some of the things that have been taken are highly classified. If you could ask him to pick up Speke, Peters and Stansersley from my department, too, and tell them to bring testing kits with them."

Albus looks at him questioningly. Too much like his father, this one.

"It's a crime, Albus," says Draco. "That's all I know at the moment. Don't make it into a conspiracy before you have to."

"I'll be quick," says Albus.

"Thank you." Draco watches the boy Disapparate then turns to look at the shopfront. So much for being on holiday.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Ron is not in his room when they finally make it to St Mungo's. Draco is not concerned, the bed sheets are thrown back and there is a marked absence of Weasleys, which can mean only a jaunt into the garden. A duck-line of offspring follows him through the twists of the hospital's corridors to its centre, where they dive out into the sunlight of the Tudor courtyard.

Ron is sitting up in a wheelchair, parked in the dappled shade beneath an apple tree. On the chamomile bench beside him Hermione and Helene are discussing whether the more complex spellcraft required to make a three-dimensional object two-dimensional at the same time as a folding it into a packing spell is worth it for the extra capacity it grants. Molly and Arthur Weasley are tracing the lines of a thyme maze, with Molly comparing it unfavourably to other mazes she has known. 

Two other patients are strolling about; happily both are ambulatory enough to dodge the stream of young people who run past. 

"There was a robbery!" Albus announces.

"At Uncle George's!" Hugo adds.

"Dad's there now, with Unspeakables, and Uncle George is fine, but the burglars whapped him over the head with something, it's an outrage!" Lily finishes.

By virtue of angles, Draco is the only one looking directly at Ron as the news spills out. He sees the Auror's hands clench and his legs not move, despite the urgency that tenses through his frame. "George was working on research projects for Mysteries," Draco says, going straight to his colleague while the children are snaffled by parents and grandparents and ordered to report. "They're among the stolen goods."

"I'm not a fan of coincidences," says Ron. 

"I don't leap straight to conspiracies," Draco replies, with a smile.

"Three scenarios," Ron says, grinning back. "One: it's a completely unrelated robbery that just happened to pick up a swathe of your materials. Two: there is a far more complex conspiracy afoot than anyone has yet uncovered and it all ties together in some hideous fashion. Three: you've got an opportunist out there who knows that most of the MLE and half the Unspeakables are tied up with the Barrier case and is taking advantage."

"I like three," says Draco.

"It's where I'd put my money. Now, the question is: did this opportunist have some prior knowledge, or were they able to put the whole thing together in 48 hours?"

"You could pull together a blag like that quickly, but it would be better to have more time."

Ron grins. "Listen to him. 'Blag'. Bless, you Malfoy, you're so easy to corrupt."

"Be _taught by experts_ , Weasley, not corrupt. And if you're right, we should be starting our search with connections of the Barrier set. Someone who will have known when to swing their own plan into action."

Ron frowns a little as he thinks. "Do we have all of them, yet? Every time you or Harry comes in, it seems the list has grown."

Draco nods. "From what the lads have pulled together out of that ridiculous paper trail, I think we're still looking for where the money starts, but all of the actual actors in the plot seem to have been hauled in. The Aurors and Legal are well into questioning our lot, I'm told the Muggles are at the same point."

"Good, one less thing to worry about."

" _You_ should be worrying about getting well," says Hermione, who has left Helene with Scorpius and quietly joined them.

Ron reaches out and takes her hand. "I'm not going anywhere – obviously – but I would like a chance to put my brain to use."

She kisses the top of his head. "How could I refuse that?"

Ron pulls her down into his lap, despite the awkward angle the chair forces. "No question as to what brain? I must have really worried you."

"You did," she says, almost playfully enough to cover up the truth of it. "I worry about you constantly. But someone has to keep the world in check, and you have Harry and Malfoy to keep you in reasonable shape."

"I have an entire department," Ron corrects her. "They're just slower than those two. I blame their training."

Draco blames their training, too. The war kept them all on edge for years, shouldering adult responsibilities when they should have been children. These two had been caught up in Harry's plans to first save, then rebuild the world, while he, he had spent years rebuilding himself before Harry's plans caught him, too. None of them came out of school exactly normal. Luna travels the world looking for wonders, Neville travels the bedrooms of a generation of witches and Hannah travels her own strange path. 

That these two should be able to sit here, smiling at each other, still filled with affection after so very long is nothing short of miraculous. 

"Draco?" Ron is looking at him. "You've gone to the vague place, mate."

"Sorry. Was wondering about the case."

"Ah," says Ron. 

"It's the Muggle involvement. It still doesn't make sense to me. Why bring them in?"

"More money?" Ron guesses. "It's a lot easier to scare up a large amount of financing from Muggle banks than from Gringotts."

"Better reason than any I've come up with," Draco admits. “I think I'll be happier when there's an established link. Fawcett's liaising with the Muggle coppers today while they do their interviews. Fingers crossed something will come up out of his report."

"I'm sure it will," Hermione says.

"I just keep thinking I've forgotten something …"

Ron laughs. "You're developing case brain: that feeling that you almost have the whole picture and just need to make sense of one last piece."

"Yes!"

"I'm cutting you off. Lunch with your own department. We need your brain to be inventor brain, there are more than enough Aurors already!"

Draco pulls a face, but Ron is right. He has spent all week trying to solve mysteries, and devoted not a moment to any of his actual research. Which reminds him … "Did Harry tell you I had an idea about a stasis spell thanks to you?"

They bounce ideas back and forward until Ron is claimed by his children and parents. Hermione and Draco take a turn on the chamomile bench while Helene is escorted on a loop of the garden by Scorpius and the Potters. 

"He looks well," Draco says.

"He is, every day he's stronger." She keeps half an eye on her husband the whole time they talk. 

"You look more rested today."

Hermione smiles at that. "I am. I had a lovely lunch out with Helene and she made me laugh the whole time. Thank you for insisting she come."

"She wanted to anyway, she was just nervous. Hospitals aren't her favourite places."

"They're not anyone's," Hermione agrees. "But if we're lucky, they're going to let Ron out tomorrow. Which brings me to a tiny favour. I hate to ask, but you're on holiday, and everyone else seems so busy. Would you be able to pop by the house in the morning and just check that we're good for groceries, general tidiness so we can get the chair through places for the next few weeks, and all that sort of thing?" 

A long moment passes. 

"Draco?" Hermione turns her gaze away from her husband. "Is that all right?"

"Yes, of course, happy to help." He has his face well under control before she sees it. She need never know that her favour is a gift. This is what Harry cannot understand, Draco thinks, the preciousness of such a gift, and that it cannot be risked, not for anything. No matter how desirable the temptation.

"You're miles away," Hermione teases him. "Thinking about the case again?"

"Thinking about twists and turns," Draco agrees. 

"It must be coming together, you have such a smile on your face."

It is coming together, Draco thinks. And he is even beginning to have a few thoughts on the case.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Friday morning sees Draco stop dead halfway through the kitchen door due to an unexpected Harry Potter at the table inside.

"Morning," says Harry. "I'd half-planned to head home last night, and was just going to pick up my things, but by the time I had had a wine or two with your ex-wife, and a cup of tea with your mother, and some of Lily's pot of hot chocolate, it was too late to bother going home."

"That's fine," says Draco, making it all the way inside. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

He turns to the countertop as the grin spreads across Harry's face. The kitchen is more notably clean than it had been the day before, as though the house-elves have given it a thorough scrubbing. This has happened before. "Did Scorpius try to cook something?" 

"Worse," says Harry. "Lily. Pancakes and dozens of them. It was like a Catholic holy day, but with more mess. Sorry about that. We did tidy things as best we could."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"You got in late."

"Dinner with friends," says Draco, bringing his cup of tea to the table. 

"Your monthly dinner with Goyle?"

"Sometimes, your Auror habits can be distinctly unappealing." Draco takes a sip of his tea before he goes on. "As it happens, yes. Pansy and Blaise were in town, too. They're well. Their little boy starts at Hogwarts this year." 

"Oh." Harry returns to his breakfast, though Draco can see him biting back words.

It is appreciated. Draco may no longer be close to his old schoolmates, but they are a part of his life. And Greg needs the outside world to come to him if he is not to drift off altogether. Once a month, Draco brings the world into that too-lived-in house. And if he leaves out some of the names of the Aurors who appear in his adventures, it is a kindness, not an evasion. Greg does not deal well with change these days.

"Fawcett asked me to give you a copy of his report," says Harry, moving on. "I left it in your study."

"Excellent. I have a few things to get done this morning, but I'll read it over lunch."

"Ron said he was talking with you about the money."

Draco nods. "He thinks the Muggles were brought in for financing."

"Exactly," says Harry. "The house was in the name of Patrick Tanner, a senior broker. He's the one who put together the funds and made the investments in construction firms, as well as a few choice properties and insurance packages. He brought a lot of his clients into it, sold it as a high-percentage return."

"So he's our man?"

Harry shrugs. "He's denying things at the moment, says he was only operating on orders, but can't tell me who they came from." 

"Imperiused?"

"Or lying. Won't know for a day or two. Some of your lads are running tests, you really need to come up with something faster there."

"I'll add it to the list."

Harry looks up brightly. "You have a list?"

"Of Auror requests? It's three feet long. You are by far the most annoying department in the Ministry."

"We thought you would appreciate the intellectual challenges. It's all to keep you interested in your work, really."

Draco throws a bread roll at Harry's head.

"That's better," says Harry. "Nothing says ‘I care’ like airborne objects."

There are running feet in the hallway outside and Scorpius, Albus and James appear at the door, each claiming victory in the race.

Draco considers bustling them all into the breakfast room and summoning house-elves, but since the boys have already put together another pot of tea and begun toast preparations, he retakes his seat at the kitchen table instead. The house-elves can go off and polish something.

"We thought we might get a scratch Quidditch game up before we go to visit Uncle Ron," James says. "Three a side and Scorpius's mum said she'd ref if you're busy. No Snitch, just Catchers and Keepers."

"What are you going to use as hoops?" Draco asks, afraid he already knows the answer.

"I thought the yew topiaries in the Old Garden," says Scorpius.

Draco forces himself not to frown. "If you damage them, play is suspended immediately until you repair the tree. And I want a perfect repair, even if one of you has to call in Professor Longbottom."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy!" James promises. "Thanks!"

"And you'll need to start with Helene at least, I have an appointment this morning, but should be back by lunch."

"Mysteries?" Harry asks.

"Hermione asked me to check in on their place," Draco replies. "Everyone's been caught up at the hospital." He leaves out the possibility of Ron being released today, that's Weasley's good news to share. 

"Off to water their flowers?" Harry smiles.

"Something like that," says Draco. But he smiles, too, because Harry can be taught.

The Granger-Weasley family home is easy to Apparate to. A former farm, it was made over by the previous owners into a sprawling family residence, and Ron and Hermione have kept up the tradition. Several fat ginger cats – Kneazles now Draco looks more closely – are littered about, basking in the bright sun and cheerfully ignoring him.

He pulls the key out of his pocket and goes to the back door – which is open. Draco puts the key away and pulls out his wand instead. 

Chances are that it's a Weasley who's popped in to do a spot of tidying off his or her own bat, but then, Ron is one of the nation's leading Aurors. Still, operating on the theory that it is never good to stun the relatives of one's friends, Draco sings out a cheery hello. 

"Hello?" a voice calls back, followed by footsteps. "Ah," says the voice from within the dark house. "Malfoy."

"I thought you were off doing something to puffins," Draco says as Ginny Weasley opens the door. 

She pauses. “You make that sound tremendously _wrong_ somehow. I got in last night. Thought I'd come around and make sure the house is ship-shape, then lie low until Ron wants me to see him."

"He's doing very well," Draco tells her.

"So they say. And what are you up to? Guarding my brother's demesne?" She points to the wand still in his hand.

Draco hurriedly stuffs it away. "Hermione asked me to pop in and make sure everything was fine here. But you're more than capable, I'll head off."

Ginny smiles at that. "Hermione asked, did she? Well, you'd best come in, then,"

"No, it's …"

"Malfoy, you're fine. I could do with a hand."

And though Ginny is shaking her head at him, she is also holding the door open, so Draco walks through and into a large family room, with an even larger kitchen off to the side.

There is a pervading sense of tidy clutter to the place. Piles of books are neatly stacked beside many of the chairs, strips of parchment and paper protruding at places the readers have marked in most. A basket of bright orange wool balls and what looks like the start of a scarf has been appropriated by one of the Kneazles, who is sleeping soundly around the knitting needles. 

Draco feels the smile bloom across his face. He could drop the Granger-Weasleys into this scene with absolute accuracy, helped by the fact that Hugo has left his second-best broom and polishing kit draped across his chair. 

Ginny looks about the room. "I thought that if we moved the books back onto the shelves, or even just one consolidated pile, then we could shift the furniture a little. Three feet should be ample for pathways."

Draco nods. "And if we turn this table, there'll be room for him to get through the door."

"Exactly." Ginny takes herself through the door and they begin to wander through the house. 

"The hall is fine, plenty of space, even with all the shelves. I've already moved most of the spare brooms and kit out to the lumber room. I was thinking we could ensconce Ron and Hermione in the good spare room until he's able to do the stairs rather than see about tackling them in that bloody chair. No matter how good a floating charm we put on it, there's always the risk of gouging either wall or knee."

She opens up a door off the hallway and they step into a light, bright room that Ginny has obviously aired. There are bunches of blue and white flowers in the vases scattered about and a selection of books and Quidditch magazines on the bedside tables.

"This is lovely," says Draco. "It will be like holidaying, only downstairs."

Ginny laughs. "Yes, I was going for Cornish seaside. I did bring them some fluffy towels from my place …"

"Ah."

"You too?"

"My former wife insisted. Along with scented candles and some toiletry items. I don't want to know what she thinks they are planning for rehabilitation …"

"Malfoy!" Ginny's laughter is accompanied by head shaking this time. "Oh, that's horrible. I am going to get a start on clearing up the books."

"I'll check he can make it in and out of the bathroom and loo safely, I can widen the door a bit if needs be, and put in a rail. Then I'll come out and give you a hand."

"Good plan. See you shortly."

Draco sets about his work. The small bathroom off the guest room has a separate WC, which is simply hopeless, so Draco charms the dividing wall back against itself, leaving the loo in the corner of the bathroom. A rail along the folded wall, and another for getting in and out of the bath, plus a fractional widening of the doorway is enough. The basin was apparently left at its original low height – Draco can imagine a household full of basins at this level, with Hermione and Rose using them comfortably, and Ron and Hugo never complaining about the need to stoop.

Adding Helene's towels to Ginny's, and leaving the basket of suspiciously scented jars and bottles on one of the bedside tables, Draco does a quick lap of the rest of the ground floor. Hugo's bedroom is nearby, and it is hopeless, but Draco imagines Ron avoids it at the best of times. The large family bathroom is so very large that Draco can't imagine anyone crashing into anything there. The formal sitting room on one side of the front of the house, and less formal on the other, are both mostly fine, though he folds away a few of the more extreme rugs and tablecloths that could otherwise come to grief with a wheeled Ron. That leaves only the study and the library, and the rooms are near-mirrors: lined round with shelves and scattered with comfortable chairs. The only difference is the large desk in the former and the smaller writing tables in the latter. Draco adjusts a few chairs and considers his work finished, so goes in search of Ginny.

"Done?" she asks.

"There wasn't a lot to do. Can I give you a hand?"

"Grab Hugo's bits, would you. I'm nearly done with the books."

Draco packs away Hugo's broom polishing kit, and bundles it and the broom into a corner, where a pile of Quidditch gear is already neatly stacked.

"It's like cleaning up after the Harpies in here," Ginny grouses.

"I had no idea the team was so literate," Draco jokes before he can help himself. 

To his relief, Ginny laughs. "Wasn't much else to do in the middle of training," she says. "Coach frowned on boys. Even Harry had a hard time getting in to see me before a big match."

Draco smiles at her. "I am sure he was the picture of patience."

"He disguised himself as Augusta Longbottom once."

Draco barks with laughter. The redoubtable Mrs Longbottom has been planning her centenary of late, despite it being a few years away, and caterers the length of England are considering careers in Dangerous Animal Training in a bid to escape her inquiries. He is not sure whether to hope she heard about Harry's escapade, or hope she never does.

"It would have worked," Ginny continues, "except Madam Marchbanks was visiting her granddaughter that day. Even she was playing along, but Harry panicked and fled, declaring he had an appointment to have his vulture re-stuffed."

Draco sits on the floor, holding his ribs, and trying very hard to breathe.

"There," says Ginny. "That's done. Shall we see if we need to bring anything in in the way of food or drink?"

"Give me a moment."

Ginny pauses to help Draco to his feet before continuing into the kitchen.

"I hear Hermione went to the Manor," she says, with her head in the pantry.

"Yes, she dropped the children off with Ron."

"We need more oranges. And got on very well with your mother."

Draco makes note about the fruit. "You have good sources."

"You need them in this family. Bread, bacon, some fish and eggs wouldn't hurt. Definitely sausages. Most of the veg are still good, but some little squash and tomatoes. Oh, and milk and cream. So … So falls the last bastion."

It takes Draco a moment to realise that the conversation has gone back a step. "Ah," he says. "Not quite the last."

Ginny smiles. "No, the last. I have been resigned to you for years, Malfoy. And anyway, your mother _did_ save Harry, which to my mind cancels out your father trying to kill me."

Draco does not say anything.

"Should we have a cup of tea? It seems as though we ought."

"That would be lovely, thank you very much."

Ginny favours him with a smile. "Sit down, Malfoy, and stop looking so nervous. If I was going to hex you, I would have done it years ago."

"I seem to recall you did, at least once."

"Oh! So I did. Well that's taken care of, then. Milk? Sugar? Lemon?"

"Just lemon thanks."

"Here you are. So how are the boys?" She sits opposite him and blows gently over the lip of her cup to cool her tea.

"Albus and Scorpius?"

"Unless there's something you haven't told me about Hugo and James."

"James still with Rose, Hugo still looking hopefully at most girls. No, Albus and Scorpius are doing well. Disgustingly in love, but also still good friends. It's unnatural seeing such happy young people, but I suppose life is better when you grow up without constant civil war."

Ginny smiles wryly. "Regular near-death is not conducive to good mental health. Really, we're all masterpieces of coping."

"I've heard the boys say something similar."

Ginny clears her throat. "You know, I used to say such awful things to Harry about you. I know they weren't true. It was just so much easier than saying horrible things about the two of us."

Draco gives a measured answer, not sure how honest he should be. "It's all right. I know exactly how hard it can be facing the truth when things are going poorly. I let Helene blame everything on me, though if truth be told, that woman holds a grudge!"

"Well, she's French, of course you're at fault."

Draco laughs again. He had not expected Ginny Weasley would ever care about making him laugh. 

"That and she could never be sure if you were going to cause an international incident."

"It has been _years_!"

"Another cup?"

Draco shakes his head. "I should go home, the kids have a scratch Quidditch game planned, and I promised I'd ref."

"Fair enough."

"Do you want them to come over to your place for the weekend?"

"I can wait till Monday. Rose and Hugo will want to spend a bit of time with their dad, so it's best that my lot be distracted at your place over the weekend. If you can keep quiet about me being back early, they won't be put out. Come on, I'll see you to the door."

"You're very kind."

"Not at all." Ginny pauses as she walks him through the back door. "Malfoy, thank you. It was kind of you to come and help, and you were very pleasant to work with." 

"We're not going to be _friends_ are we?" Draco asks carefully.

"Merlin no!" Ginny declares. "That would be _wrong_."

"I agree. But not enemies, either."

Ginny smiles. "I was thinking polite disdain, with occasional amicable periods, like this one."

Draco grins. "Perfectly judged. It was a pleasure spending time with you, Ginevra."

"Do call again, Draco."

And he is about to leave when he remembers there is something he always meant to tell her. "For what it's worth, I could always see why he chose you."

And she is clearly surprised, but she is a Weasley, so she gives an honest reply. "For what it's worth, we ran our course. Harry's ready to move on, and you could do a lot worse."

Draco can't reply to that. Instead, he panics. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"You and Luna Lovegood … are you really …"

Ginny laughs merrily. "Of all the questions! Luna and I are just good friends. Travelling together has been enormous fun, and I've been able to help her with her work."

"Of course. Right. Well, see you."

She waits until Draco has taken a few steps before she adds: "The occasional sex is just a brilliant bonus."

After Draco has finished coughing, he turns an appraising eye on her. "I should have known. Lily had to get it from somewhere."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o


	4. Chapter 4

There are young people terrorising Draco's topiaries when he returns to the manor. So far the yews seem to be surviving, but it is a close-run thing. 

Helene is allegedly refereeing, but is in fact sitting in a striped deckchair to one side of the garden, with a glass of Champagne in her hand. Occasionally she blows her whistle and makes vague hand gestures in an upward direction. Draco tells her that she is a terrible influence and takes the whistle. 

James and Lily have Rose in goal, so even though Albus and Scorpius are wildly outflying them, the two boys are mostly being stopped before they can score. At the other end, despite the fact that Lily and James are giggling like four-year-olds, they have had more success thanks to Hugo being as attentive as a crup with fleas. 

Draco calls 50-30 and Hugo throws the Quaffle back into play. Albus, thrilled to be out of keeping for once, snatches it from the air and performs a rather impressive roll to bring himself soaring down on Rose's goal from above, and is able to pitch through the top of the yew before she can shift position. Rose returns the Quaffle to play, but Lily fumbles the catch and Scorpius sneaks in a quick goal, levelling the scores, at which point Draco blows a decisive final whistle and calls them all down. 

"Mr Malfoy!" James complains. "That's cheating! We're even. Give us another five minutes!"

Draco mentally concedes that he could have stopped the game before his son's goal, but chooses not to address the issue. "Sorry, it's closing in on lunch, we need to get you all cleaned up and ready for the hospital, I thought we could take in something nice for Ron and Hermione to eat."

General excitement greets the idea and Rose hurries ahead to ask the house-elves for her parents' favourites. In under a half hour, all six young people are ready to leave, and Helene has thrown on something stylish and is topping up the picnic basket with wine.

"An extra bottle for the Weasleys," she says with a smile. 

"Make it two," Draco says, quietly. "I think they will have good news today."

At the hospital they are waved through impatiently by the Welcome Witch, who mutters something about being overrun by Weasleys – which Draco thinks is hardly fair. Ron's room does have its door open, and they can hear Percy and Bill laughing as they make their way down the corridor, there are at least three members of the family not in attendance. 

"Good news!" Ron declares as his children traipse through the door to find him sitting, dressed, on the side of his bed. "They're letting me out!"

Rose and Hugo both leap onto the bed and into their father's arms, though Hugo quickly sits back and pretends he was only there to support his sister. Draco is close enough to see the genuine relief on the lad's face and is not fooled. 

"Do you have time for lunch in the garden before you go?" Helene asks. "We've brought plenty, and it is all good."

Ron assures her they do, and he and Bill start questioning the menu, and praising Rose and Helene's choices. Draco takes a moment to whisper an update on the state of the house to Hermione, and she squeezes his hand in thanks. 

Scorpius sees them and sidles in alongside his father as the group files out to the garden. "You knew!" he says.

"I hoped," Draco corrects him. 

"But we were going to have a film night. Now Rose and Hugo will be off home, and James will sulk and Lily will be uncontrollable. Albus and I will have to spend all our time separating them. Can we invite some other friends round instead?"

Draco is never sure how 'some other friends' translates to a good dozen or more Hogwarts students, but that evening, after they have packed and escorted Rose and Hugo home and spent the afternoon shopping for snacks and treats, he finds the manor over-run with young people. Scorpius has filled the projector room with sofas and divans and has an old Basil Rathbone film flickering away. The Muggle images of nearly a century ago captivate the young people as they fall into the mystery, and Draco decides to leave them to it. If Lily is in the lap of that young man whose father is a musician and Albus is slipping his hand along the waistband of Scorpius's trousers, it is nothing that needs adult supervision. In fact, it's best not thought of.

Helene and Narcissa have taken possession of the conservatory and are gossiping about men, so Draco retreats to the kitchen and waits at the table browsing through the _Prophet_ while a house-elf cooks a light supper for him. He is not surprised when Harry joins him, in fact, he has ordered supper for two on the expectation. 

"I said stay as long as you like," he says as Harry drops into the seat opposite.

"I intend to take full advantage," Harry replies. "I'm saving a fortune on food, for a start."

The house-elf takes the opportunity to serve a plate of trout and salad, and conversation halts for a moment while it is consumed.

"That's delicious," Harry says after a few mouthfuls. The house-elf smiles cheerily in reply.

"Malfoy's Home for Hungry Potters," Draco says, trying out the shape of the words. "I think I need to work on it, but am reasonably sure I could register as a charity."

"I _knew_ you'd finally see sense and ask me to move in. Oh, hello, Lester!"

Draco doesn't even bother to turn his head, it's inevitable that someone would be there. 

"Hello, sirs," Lester replies. "Am I intruding?"

"No!" Draco assures him quickly. "Mr Potter was just speaking nonsense. Do come in. News?"

Lester joins them at the table and carefully avoids looking from one to the other. "Sebastien thinks he's onto something, and I think he might be onto something, too, but the problem is we can't prove it."

"So you want me to come in and have a look?" Harry asks.

Lester pauses for just a moment before replying, "Yes. And Mr Malfoy, too, if possible."

"Do you need us right now?" asks Draco.

"It can wait until you finish your meal," Lester says.

"And you came all the way to Wiltshire to tell us this," Draco says, with only a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Actually …" Lester is embarrassed. "Scorpius sent me an owl inviting me to film night. Seb's waiting back at the Ministry but said he had other things to do as long as you can be there before eight."

"Go, they're in the projector room watching ancient mysteries."

"Excellent!"

Draco waits until he can no longer hear Lester's quick footsteps before he allows himself to laugh.

"We forget he's still young," Harry says. "It was the same with me after the war, every now and then I would have to run off for a weekend and do something hopelessly irresponsible."

"It's hard to imagine Lester being irresponsible," Draco muses.

"Does he ever make you nervous?" Harry asks around bites of fish.

"Not at all, he's clearly after your job."

"Mine?" Harry pauses with a fork halfway to his mouth.

"Absolutely: I think he sees himself combining the Aurors and Legal properly so he can run both fully as head of MLE, though he'll wait until Hermione thinks about retirement or moving to the Wizengamot before deposing you. Your son will be Minister of Magic and mine Prime Minister, or it's possible I have that the wrong way round, and Fotherington will by then have made up his mind whether it will be easier for him to send me off or keep me around to do the things that don't interest him."

Harry is so startled he puts his cutlery down. "But they're all _children_."

"I give us ten years." Draco shrugs. "By then we'll be welcoming a quieter life. And besides, we can trust them all to get rid of us in a dignified fashion. There won't be whispering campaigns in the _Prophet_ or poisons in the Butterbeer."

"And we can count on full pensions, as our lot are so mercenary about gifts."

"Exactly! Not such a dreadful fate, really. Come on, finish up and we'll go and set Fotherington free for his weekend."

The two of them make quick work of the rest of their meals and pause only briefly to let the younger set know they are heading into the Ministry and grab their work robes before heading off across the manor's garden to a convenient point for Disapparation. 

Draco is about to comment that it's just as well Lester has no talent for evil when there is a sudden movement in the viburnum ahead of them. He goes to draw his wand and push Harry behind him, at exactly the same moment that Harry attempts to draw _his_ wand while pushing Draco behind _him_. As a result, the two of them are tangled and pushing each other when Narcissa walks out from behind the tall bush with an armful of flowers.

"Don't let me disturb you two," she says, gliding back towards the house. "It's a lovely evening for it."

“I have had an epiphany,” says Draco, watching her go.

Harry watches with him. “Oh yes?”

“Yes. The masterminds behind all of this are my mother and our ex-wives. It is the only explanation for why the two of us are consistently being thrown into mortal peril – they're hoping my response will be to leap passionately onto you.”

Harry grins. “Usually you just try to knock me over. But I like the way they – and apparently you – think. There is only one flaw: the utter impossibility of them all working together.”

“Sadly true,” Draco agrees. 

“Any other suspects?” Harry begins to walk again and Draco follows.

“Alas, that's it for my suggestions this evening. Do you have any?”

“I suggest snogging.”

Draco pokes out his tongue at Harry's back. “You always suggest snogging. Besides, we've established that's only for dire situations. Are we facing certain death?”

“No.”

“Then no snogging.”

Harry stops and turns about, grinning. “We could be facing _unexpected_ certain death. Asteroids fall and lorries career out of control all the time.”

“I promise to Apparate you away to safety in time,” Draco says.

“You’re a good friend.”

"I am. Come on, we're expected."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Fotherington is busy working when they arrive at the Ministry. "Good evening, sirs," he calls out as they walk through the door to the Room of Futures. "Thank you for coming in."

"Not at all," Draco says, heading over to the table at which his employee sits. "Lester says you have a probable lead."

Fotherington nods enthusiastically. "I think so. You see, the problem with everything we've pieced together so far is that we couldn't find all the money. If you've looked at Fawcett's report you will have noticed that there is a sum of approximately £30 million missing when you add up all the investments and all of the accounts and purchases."

Draco nods. "I glanced at it this afternoon. But Fawcett wrote that Tanner hadn't told everything he knew."

"He's the one they think might have been Imperiused?" Harry asks.

Fotherington hands them identical parchment scrolls. "I'm fairly certain he has. Jonathan Lemberg, forty-five, I've copied a brief biography to the top of each report."

"Never heard of him," Harry mutters.

"You wouldn't have," says Fotherington. "He's a Squib. But Aquila and Galium Lemberg are his cousins."

The names are vaguely familiar to Draco, but Harry is nodding. "I've had Gallium in twice for illegal importation of restricted potions ingredients."

Draco is scanning the rest of the parchment. "Father a wizard, mother a Muggle. Raised a Muggle – Harrow School, Merton College, Oxford. Did very well in the City, made his first millions before he was twenty-five, more after, then lost the lot in the crash of '08. This company he worked for, Lehman, isn't that the same one Mr Tanner has on his résumé?"

"Yes, sir," says Fortherington. "He was a young employee when Lemberg was one of their ascendant stars. That's how we uncovered him, Fawcett gave me a full background of Tanner's connections and I extrapolated data from them; if you turn to the end of the parchment you will see that Mr Lemberg has recently seen a sizeable increase in his ready funds."

Draco furls the document to the columns of figures at the end, which represent Lemberg's financial worth through the decades. The figures reach a peak of nine figures in the early part of the century, dropping back suddenly to barely seven, then continuing to fall to the high fives, before making a recovery around 2015 and slowly improving, though to nowhere near the previous heights. Over the past three months some £30 million has significantly boosted the total.

"How did you pull all of this together?" he asks Fotherington, impressed.

"We were certain the money had to be Muggle, because we know most of the people with access to that sort of funding in the wizarding world and we could rule them all out due to lack of connection, or being, er, you. Fawcett had a warrant that allowed him to investigate the accounts of Tanner and his associates, so I designed a spell that would go through their accounts looking for patterns and assembling the information, with any recent increases of the amount of money we were looking for to be flagged: whether that was in one place or spread across several individuals."

Harry is frowning, keeping track of Fotherington's explanation. "But you'd need bank accounts, investment accounts, real estate, purchases of jewellery, art or other valuables …"

"Yes, I had to pull in everything from Sotheby's to some very tricky Swiss institutions, and it was almost impossible to get through their encryptions, but then I thought that I could—"

"Wait a moment," Harry interrupts. "You hacked into Swiss bank accounts?"

Fotherington is taken aback. "Of course not, sir. I set up a spell to record incomings and outgoings over the past twenty-four months. I didn't touch the accounts themselves!"

Harry opens his mouth, and then closes it. Draco pats his arm absently. Fotherington appears to be incorruptible, and that will just have to serve in place of being actually within the law. Harry will come to accept it, as the rest of them have. Far easier to keep him busy in ways that will limit the likelihood of his accidentally seizing control of the global economy.

"The problem, of course, is that it's currently all circumstantial," Fotherington goes on. "The money has been routed through so many companies and investments and 'financial products' in the last few months that it will take me days if not weeks to sort it all out. I don't have anything that links him physically to the crime."

"Good work, though," says Harry. "We can set a watch on him and wait until he slips up or you make a connection."

Fotherington mutters that it was nothing, but is clearly pleased.

Draco is scanning the parchment again. "I'm missing something," he says. "There's something I was meant to … Ah."

He flings the scroll out onto the table and jabs his finger down at a paragraph.

"Bachelor of Arts in Economics and Management?" reads Harry. "Honestly, Draco, you can't fault a man simply for being a merchant banker."

Draco pauses. Harry is wearing the look that tells him he is missing a particularly Mugglish joke, but there is no time for that now. "Keep reading," he says.

Harry reads out loud: "Fined for public drunkenness and causing affray at a public house near Oxford, publican spoke on his behalf before the magistrate and said that the young gentleman had already settled all damages handsomely and that it was less a matter of criminal responsibility and more a matter of Bullingdon Club hijinks, no conviction recorded."

Draco is rummaging through his pockets. He pulls out a handful of shiny objects that have become caught up in some wires and cords. Carefully, he ferrets one out of the mess. "Keep meaning to sort this lot out," he mutters. "Here we go."

It is a small silver trinket. "Lester delivered this on Wednesday night, said you found it at the house on Bell Road. I've been meaning to get onto it ever since, but kept forgetting. See, BC."

He points to the etched letters and Fotherington and Harry peer down, nodding. 

"May I, sir?" Fotherington asks, holding out his hand. 

Draco hands it to him and then follows as he bounds off to the warded corner of the room. There are several small computers there, Fotherington taps one and then starts scrolling for the information he seeks. Soon, a symbol is displayed in the light above the screen and Fotherington holds the little shield up beside it. 

"It's so worn, you'd never make it out from what's left, but if you compare it here, then this mark could well be a horse's head, and then over here these lines the stumps and flagpole upright. That definitely looks like the flag. It's all worn in a stripe across, as though someone rubbed it out."

"If you had a habit of holding it and rubbing your thumb over it …" Harry says, taking the item from Fotherington. "Say if you wore it as a fob medal on a watch chain – some Muggles still wear them, mostly as an affectation – or maybe with some worry beads of something equally silly, if the hole is where it was attached to the chain or beads, then you'd rub out all the bits that seem to be gone. And that would explain how it got to the gutter, he could have lost it climbing out the window. We can scan this for traces of people who have held it, and that will tie him to the scene."

Fotherington is nodding, and Draco is inclined to agree, except … "I would pay someone to do it for me," he says. "Why risk yourself setting explosives? In fact, since he's obviously involved his cousins at some point – and that's if he's our man, which is still an if – why not just have them set the whole lot magically and safely?"

"I don't know, sir."

"It's a mess," says Harry. "This whole case reads like a series of different crimes, cobbled together inexpertly. If he is behind it, I'm not surprised he lost all his money, only that he made any back."

"So what do we do?" Draco asks him.

"We go and talk to him. And Fotherington goes home and does young people things."

"Do we have reasonable cause to talk to him? He is a Muggle, after all."

"No, he's a Squib. He knows about us. It's a friendly chat."

Draco considers it for a moment. He knows that if Lester were here, he would have something to say, but really, it's one Squib, and Harry is both impatient and _Harry_ , so it's not as though they can get into any trouble. "All right. Fotherington, are you seeing your young lady tonight?"

"Not tonight, sir, I'm taking Alice out tomorrow."

"Off you go home, then, and clean the place up. Fresh sheets on the bed, something nice in the kitchen. A bowl of fruit looks decorative and healthy, while still being manly. Not to presume you'll get lucky, but it can't hurt to be prepared."

Fotherington is blinking at him in horror, so Draco leaves off teasing him and holds up his copy of the Lemberg parchment instead. "This was good work. You've been slaving away all week, go home."

Fotherington smiles at that. "Thank you sir. See you Monday."

"See you Monday."

Draco lets him leave before he turns to Harry. "So. It's seven forty-five on a Friday evening. He could well be out to the theatre."

Harry looks down at the address on his scroll. "He's in Essex, more or less on the way back to your place, so it won't be any effort to go and see."

"Obviously we're going, but do you think we ought to have an excuse?"

Harry grins. "We're both terribly pretty and we thought he deserved a look?"

Draco punches him in the arm and they walk out of the Ministry together before Apparating to Essex.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The Lemberg house is an imposing pile near Hainault Forest. Despite its high gates and electronic security, the two men Apparate to a point near the front door, and Harry takes the steps in a brisk leap before rapping with the knocker. The door swings in a little as he knocks.

A voice rings out from inside "Yes? What is it?"

"Mr Lemberg? Jonathan Lemberg?" Harry calls.

"Yes, who's there? And how did you get through the gate?"

"I was wondering if we could have a word about your cousins, Gallium and Aquila?" 

Draco is impressed. When required, Harry can be veritably stealthy. They can hear a throat being cleared.

"Ah. Right. Do you mind letting yourselves in? I'm just in the middle of something very tricky here. To your left as you come through the door, straight through, I'm in the study."

Harry and Draco come through into the room indicated. The curtains are drawn and it takes them a moment to make out the figure sitting at the desk with a finger raised in the widely recognised gesture of 'just a second', phone held to his ear with the other hand. 

Two things happen at once, then. The door slams shut behind them, and Draco notices that the finger is taped to a stick and the phone is taped to (the very dead) Jonathan Lemberg's head. Immediately after that the large number of things that Draco has shrunk into his robe pockets start falling out through the ripped seams and Harry throws himself at the door.

"Damn!" says Harry, and throws himself at the door again. It continues to not move. "OPEN UP!" he shouts to the outside. There is no reply.

"No no no …" Draco mutters looking down at the pile of items on the floor. He looks up sharply and pushes his way past Harry to the door. There he runs his fingers across the smooth surface, which continues along the walls with a barely visible crack. 

"No!" he repeats, before climbing onto the low bookshelves near the door and reaching up to examine the ceiling. He jumps down and pulls back the carpet. 

"Fuck! Buggering cunting fuck!"

He drops the carpet and looks up. Harry is looking down at him, and his face is not a picture of composure.

"Language, Malfoy," says Harry, making an effort to use a light tone. 

Draco takes a moment to think. "All right." He takes a breath. "All right. I should mention that I learned every one of those words from working with your Aurors. We have a serious situation here. That pile of _stuff_ on the floor is everything I've stowed in my pockets this week. The Shrinking Charms have been cancelled because this room is lined with MPP."

Harry nods to show that he is following. "What's MPP?"

"Magic-Proof Polymer. Fotherington was blathering on about Muggle blast boxes one day and it occurred to me that rather than have to keep warding off that section of the Room of Futures to use Muggle tech, we could build a little room inside it, so he and I cobbled this together from a thing he designed called a polymer and some spellcraft I created. We thought it might come in handy for your lot as shields in an emergency situation, too, because it will soak up a hex thrown straight at it. But if you make a box, it cancels out all the magic in the area enclosed by the box."

Harry takes a deep breath. "You invented this."

"Yes."

"A material that takes _away_ the ability of a witch or wizard to do magic."

Draco smiles weakly. "You're going to laugh, but it had never occurred to me that someone would think to do something like this with it."

"Well, how did it get here?" Harry's eyes open wider as his brain supplies the answer before Draco can speak. "This is what was stolen from George's. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Speke listed it in his report!" Draco protests.

"But not what it _meant_." Harry leans against the door. "Bloody hell. All right. Well, Fotherington knows where we are, at least. So what else can you tell me about this stuff, is it strong? Does it protect us as much as trap us?"

Draco shrugs. "It's about as strong as timber, but we usually reinforce it with spells on the outside. You can make it virtually airtight if you do the seams well."

Harry's eyes widen and he looks to the door. The cracks are minuscule, and the MPP overlaps between door and jamb. "On the upside, it's a large room," he says, turning to Draco. "Ten by twelve metres, I would say, and that ceiling is over three metres. We should be good for a couple of days if not more. And Lemberg over there doesn't smell too badly, at least."

Draco is walking around the room examining the walls and pulls up sharply as he nears the desk. 

"What is it?" Harry demands, striding to his side.

"I fear we have more like two hours," Draco says quietly.

A belt of wires encircles the dead man's waist, attached to a complex mechanism and what Draco recognises as a similar explosive to that seen at the Bell Road house. The mechanism features an unsubtle numerical display on the front, which is helpfully labelled in hours, minutes and seconds, and moving inexorably downwards.

"Explosives _again_?" Harry exclaims. 

Draco shrugs. "It answers the question of whether this is all connected, at least." To be strictly correct, he adds, "Probably."

Harry pulls his wand from his pocket and aims it at the door, fiercely muttering a spell. And for an absurd moment, Draco hopes. 

"That was stupid," Harry says, quietly, when nothing happens.

"Not at all. If anyone could find a flaw, it would be you," Draco reassures him. "But let's see if they've left any weak points we can physically batter through. The MPP is only as strong as whatever is holding it in place."

They spend the next twenty minutes manhandling shelves and carpets about the place, searching for weak points in the structure. A marble bust on a side table is converted into a handy battering ram, but the MPP is backed with thick oak timbers through much of the room and smooth stone on the exterior walls. At the windows, where Draco had real hopes, a strong spell is securing it from the outside. They do not move the body in its chair, but every other part of the room is looked over closely.

"Nothing," Harry says.

"I'm going to look at the bomb," Draco replies. Fotherington's lessons from earlier in the week are still clear in his mind, and he has even glanced over the more detailed diagrams that were included in the report. There is a paper knife, and a good pair of steel scissors on the desk, and he suspects that he may have one of Fotherington's multi-pronged tools back in the pile of pocket refuse.

He starts at the timer and follows the wires out. 

He changes tack, and moves to the detonators.

Frustrated, he turns his attention to the plastic explosive, but it is wrapped around the other components in a way that offers no simple solution. He touches a finger gently to it, the smell is exactly the same as that he encountered before, but there seems to be at least as much in this one bundle as there had been scattered in small charges about the East Molesey house. 

"Can you disarm it?" Harry asks. He has not moved from his place on the other side of the room, and so has missed much of Draco's head shaking.

Draco makes sure he is smiling brightly as he stands up and turns around. "Sadly, no. But I have solved a couple of other problems." He picks up a small cube from the desk. "This looks like one of the speakers the young folk in Futures play music through, I think the voice we heard was transmitted out of it. So whoever closed the door must have been watching and listening from outside."

Harry goes and bangs on the door roughly again. When nothing happens, he begins to kick it, and then fling himself bodily against it. 

Draco gives him a moment to work out his anger, but when Harry continues, he moves quickly to stop him. "You are going to hurt yourself. Use your head. If you had planted a large bomb and trapped your enemies in a room with it, surely you'd take the opportunity to get as far away as you could rather than waiting around to see what happens."

"I prefer villains who stand around, gloating," Harry mutters, aware he has been foolish.

"Yes, well, not everyone is as ridiculous as Voldemort," Draco tells him, and is pleased to see Harry smile. 

"You said 'trapped your enemies'," says Harry.

"I did. I've solved the case."

Draco goes back to the desk and picks up a large framed photograph. "This is the late Mr Lemberg," he says, pointing at the figure on the left. "This woman who is wearing a wedding band that matches his is Lucrezia Byford, who died some years ago, and this man on her other side is Martyn Byford."

Harry frowns. "That name is familiar."

"His son, Terrance Byford, tried to kill your son at school and ended up nearly killing mine."

Harry's mouth opens, but there are no words.

Draco knows how he feels. It had been the worst week of his life, watching his son pale and still in a hospital bed after an adolescent attempt at a deadly hex had come close to succeeding. The only consolations had been Scorpius's thorough recovery and Harry's constant support. The Byford boy had been sent down immediately. Draco had heard rumours he had been tutored at home before being sent to Durmstrang. He had thought nothing of him for years.

"You think …" Harry says at last.

Draco snorts. "There are limits to the possibilities of coincidence. I think that everything was designed to bring us to this point. There was every reason to suspect that we would thwart the Barrier attack, everything since has led us directly here. Lemberg was probably happy to help for the money, never suspecting that he was just another cog in the gears."

"So …"

"So that sense of being at the centre of the universe that I have always mocked in you may be slightly less delusional than I have made out," Draco says with an attempt at levity.

Harry sits down heavily on the floor.

Draco smiles. “Chin up, we’re not dead yet.” He looks around again. An unexpected exit does not appear. “All right,” he concedes, keeping his voice light. “We might be just a bit fucked.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says, quietly.

“It’s fine,” Draco replies, automatically, scanning the wall yet again. After a few minutes, he realises that Harry hasn’t answered. He looks down. Harry is frowning.

“It’s not fine,” Harry says. “I think I’ve managed to get us both killed.”

Draco knows it’s technically true, but he’s not interested in admitting it. “I take it this means _you_ don’t have a brilliant secret plan. Up to me as usual.”

“I should never have involved you … You're not an Auror, you're an Unspeakable. You belong at the Ministry, not gadding about after lunatics.”

“Well, someone has to look out for you while Ron's sick. Anyway, I chose to be here,” Draco says, coming to kneel beside his friend.

“Because you trusted me.”

“Still do. Listen …” Draco takes Harry’s chin in his hand and refuses to let him look away. “ _Listen_. If we die today, and I am by no means certain we will, but _if_ we do, our children are mostly grown, our ex-wives are brilliant and capable, our families have extensive support systems, and we’ll have left them all bucketloads of gold. We've also left the world a better place, and filled with people who count themselves our friends and loved ones. If this is all we get to do, we’ve done well. So shut up.”

Harry’s frown softens into sorrow. “If we die today, I’ll have killed you.”

“Merlin you’re an idiot,” says Draco. "We're not going to die." And although he knows it’s probably not the best choice, it’s his, so he leans forward and presses his lips gently against Harry’s, and then more firmly, and he is amazed at how familiar it feels at the same time as being wholly unlike kissing the trembling lips of a terrified eighteen year old.

Draco feels Harry’s hands slip around his shoulders, and one of them tangles its fingers in his hair. Of course they’re not going to die, he thinks. Who dies when they have Harry’s hand in their hair?

After a long moment, Draco leans back. For some odd reason, he seems to have forgotten to breathe. Harry is looking at him with a familiar amusement.

“Does this mean you have a plan?” Harry asks.

“Oh yes.”

“And yet you just kissed me, which we’ve already established is confined to situations involving almost certain death.”

“Yes. It’s not a very good plan.”

At that, Harry’s face crinkles up with a proper smile. "All right then, tell me what to do."

They spend five minutes sorting through the materials that were previously in Draco's pockets, plus what can be scavenged from Lemberg's desk and around the study. The most promising elements are arrayed on the desk itself: one charge of explosive, three detonators, Fotherington's report and his fiddly pliers-and-things tool, along with scissors, a paper knife, lengths of cord and the speaker. 

"Obviously," says Draco, "what I am really hoping for is that Lester realises we're not back, calls Fotherington, and mounts a rescue party at some point in the next sixty-eight minutes. But failing that, the door is the only weak point, and if we can blow it out without setting off the main charge, I think it will allow us to disarm the bomb magically."

"All right." Harry nods. "Do you know how to make a bomb?"

"Sort of. And Fortherington wrote a comprehensive appendix in his report. What I'm not entirely certain of is how much of the explosive to use: too little and it won't work, too much and I'll blow us up anyway."

"Right. What about detonating it?"

"I can cannibalise the wires from two of the detonators to add to the third and trigger it from as far away as we can manage."

"That's good! Now how do we stop the main bomb from going off?"

"We're going to need to build a bunker over here, to protect the bomb and us."

Harry blinks a few times. "The bomb and us?"

"Yes, we'll be tucked down beside it, that way we can maximise the amount of protection for everything that needs shielding rather than splitting it up. If I fail, at least we'll go quickly."

"Can't die," says Harry with a wink. "Haven't managed enough snogging. Am I right in assuming you'll be building the bomb and I'll be building the barrier?"

"You are." And because they might be about to die, Draco indulges himself and winks back. And because he would rather not, he then scoops up his materials and arranges them on the low bookshelf by the door and gets to work as swiftly and smoothly as possible. 

Fotherington's notes are a good guide, but not exact, and he has no way of measuring. About half the window charge seems appropriate, so he breaks it off and rolls it out into a fine sausage. Sebastien has written that a quill thickness seems the minimum desirable, so Draco makes sure the sausage is twice this, then separates it into three. He sticks one down firmly over the door's lock, clearly visible through the MPP. Then the other two are added over the hinges. 

He disassembles the first detonator, pulling out the wires and small charge in the correct order. The blue wire is discarded, but the other two are cut in half, then each has its insulating cover scraped back at both ends, exposing the metal beneath. Draco plunges sets of ends and their accompanying small charges into each of the hinge explosives, leaving the other ends free. He repeats the wire removal from the second detonator and twists matching raw ends together into colour-coded Y's before sinking the bare junctures into the plastic over the lock and smoothing the explosive on top of it, along with the charge from the last detonator. 

The remaining free ends are hooked up to wires of the last detonator and he packs his tools into his remaining pockets and tucks Fotherington's report under his arm. So focussed has Draco been on his work that when he turns around, he is amazed at the transformation of the room. 

Harry has turned the desk on its side and buttressed it with overturned bookshelves. The many books have been packed into the cavity behind the desk, like nothing so much as printed sandbags. Unwilling to move Lemberg from his chair, Harry has dropped the height on the gas lift so that only the man's head protrudes above the bunker. The desk's drawer-filled legs are braced against the wall, and two sturdy oak bookshelves bracket it and provide some cover above, another is laid down in front, higher than the desk, to provide a little more protection. 

Draco steps across to find that Lemberg has been packed in place with the heaviest books around his explosive garment, and that a space just big enough for two grown men remains beside the wall. 

"Will it work?" Harry asks him, nervously.

Draco nods. "It has to. And look, there's just enough wire to get in there comfortably, so I can detonate it manually."

Harry eyes the door arrangement. "Will the electricity split off between the charges?" 

"I think so. And if not, the percussive force of the first charge going off ought to be enough to set off the last." Draco tucks the remaining plastic in under the books on Lemberg's lap, grimly aware that it could mean the difference here as well as at the door.

"After you," he says, gesturing Harry into their makeshift bunker. 

"After you," Harry insists.

Draco shakes his head. "No, I need to be able to get out quickly if things go slightly wrong, so I can fix them."

Harry looks as though he will argue, but years of field operations have left him with a clear sense of the necessary, so instead he climbs in, drawing his wand to be ready should all go to plan.

Draco follows, arranging himself with his back to the books, for greatest protection. Harry has his back to the wall, which is foolish, really, but Draco cannot bring himself to ask for a rearrangement. If he is to die, it should be looking at something he has …

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"There are twelve minutes left. Do you want to wait a bit longer in case there is a team on its way, or should we try now and leave the maximum amount of time for a second try if it's possible?"

"Now," Draco says immediately. "It's far more sensible." He runs through his mental checklist one last time. He thinks they have done enough to live. Certainly he’s run out of reasons not to fire the detonators. For good or bad, this is it. Except …

“Harry?”

“Are you all right? What can I do?"

“Yes,” says Draco.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Draco looks at him meaningly. Harry’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh, yes. I see.” Harry grins hopefully. “Is that a yes for after we get out of here?”

“No, because if we get out of here, it will go back to being a terrible idea. But it’s a yes for if we’d run out of options and were doomed to die, I know how I’d prefer to use our last twelve minutes.”

“Oh.” Harry appears to think for a moment. “You mentioned at the start this was a bad plan.”

“Shut up, Potter,” says Draco. He reaches out with his free arm to pull Harry close and cradle him tightly against his chest. Pressing them both against each other and the wall, he breaks the detonator's circuit.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Draco is more familiar than he would like to be with explosions. This does not feel like the worst he has experienced, though his ears and head are both ringing, and something has landed on the side of his head. He wipes the worst of the dust from his face on his robe’s shoulder before opening his eyes, then tosses a volume that proclaims itself to be the definitive guide to roses from where it has come to rest on his face. Harry is still ducked down against his chest, and covered in blood.

“Harry! Potter!” Draco tries not to jar him as he runs his hands gently across Harry’s head, looking for the source of the blood. He finds nothing, only more debris and sticky mess.

Harry looks up at him, and his eyes widen in alarm. Draco can see his mouth moving, but the words are a dull buzz as the explosion still echoes inside his head. Harry reaches up and wipes Draco’s forehead, then pulls his hand back, showing blood. Draco mimics the gesture. Harry looks confused for a moment, then sits up. He points at the body of Lemberg, now with partially missing head. 

Draco feels certain that the expression on his own face mimics the distaste on Harry’s.

They help each other up, a little unsteadily. There is a fine mist of dust hanging in the air, swirled into eddies by the breeze blowing in through the new gap in the door. The gap has been created by a large chunk of wood, now buried in the wall behind where the top of Mr Lemberg’s head once sat.

Draco consoles himself with the knowledge the man had no further use for either door or head.

He pushes some of the books away from Lemberg’s lap. Harry frowns at him. “Need to stop the bomb, too much danger to people nearby,” says Draco. 

He’s not sure if Harry hears him, his voice sounds muffled even in his own body, but Potter understands, and helps. When they uncover the device, the countdown shows that barely more than a minute has passed, which is ridiculous, as it feels as though it has been hours. A quick Time Stop Spell and the red numbers stop moving. 

Draco laughs. Harry claps his shoulder and says something that ends with “door” and “out”. After a moment, Draco’s brain catches up with his ears and he turns around to find Harry has opened the door and is scanning the house for the culprit. The slump of his shoulders speaks to his failure before he turns around. 

“Long gone. We should appalingstronry,” Harry says.

Draco shakes his head to clear his ears. It doesn’t work. There was a spell he learned from that mediwizard, if only he could recall it, it started with a B …

“Draco?” Harry is standing in front of him, looking concerned. Which is odd because he was over at the door a moment ago. 

And now Harry is frowning at him and peering into his eyes. Draco starts to tell him that he is fine, but it doesn’t come out right. Harry frowns and says “Oh bloody hell, all right, hold on,” and the next thing Draco knows he is in the entrance hall of St Mungo’s, where the Welcome Witch is looking as though she is thoroughly tired of the sight of them and then he needs a little nap.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

“There’s no need to give me that look, Mr Potter, I’ve done everything I can and Mr Malfoy will wake up in his own time.”

Draco has heard the voice before – it’s one of the mediwitches, though he cannot remember the woman’s name.

“But he will wake up?”

“He’s just unconscious. You brought him here quickly enough. There was a little swelling on his brain, but it was fixed before it had time to do any significant damage. We are robust creatures, Mr Potter, he will just need a little time to recover. We’ll probably send him home tomorrow.”

“Can I …”

“Stay with him? Of course. He should have people with him for the next day or two. Head injuries are a bit tricky and it never hurts to have someone sitting by to keep an eye on the patient.”

It takes Draco an effort – his brain appears to be making a bid for freedom through his sinus cavities – but he opens his eyes. Harry and the mediwitch – Appleton, that’s it – are chatting across his bed. 

“I’m fine,” Draco says, but it comes out more as a croak.

Appleton pours a drink of water, and Harry helps him to sit up and drink it. “You look like crap for someone who’s fine,” Harry tells him.

Draco takes a long sip of water, which is truly splendid stuff. “You can’t talk, you’re still covered in Lemberg’s brains.”

“I was waiting to see you still had yours before I cleaned up.” Harry is smiling, but he has obviously been worried.

“I’ve both brains and sense of smell, you’re beginning to pong.”

Appleton doesn’t quite conceal her grin. She helps Harry ease Draco back down to the bed before reassuring him that what Mr Malfoy needs right now is rest, and so she will find someone to sit with him for half an hour if Harry would like to go away and clean and …

… Harry is there and his hair is damp and he is wearing fresh clothes. 

“Did I fall asleep?” Draco asks.

“For about forty-five minutes,” Harry confirms. “I changed at the Ministry and made my report. Abbott’s coordinating the search for Byford, she sends her best. I was just waiting for you to wake up again before I sent word to the Manor.”

“Thanks. I think Helene will strangle me the next time she sees me unconscious. Even Scorpius is beginning to have serious doubts about letting me out of the house unsupervised.”

“Do you want me to send word that we’ve run away to the Tropics?”

“And there’s tomorrow’s _Prophet_ headline. Do you even think to check who’s listening before you say these things?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” 

“I’ve suspected all along it was intentional.”

Harry smiles. “How are you feeling?”

“As though I was clobbered by a horticultural treatise.”

The smile falls from Harry’s face. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse. How bad does it look?”

Harry peers at Draco’s head. “They’ve cleaned you up nicely, you can only just see the trace of a bruise. Should be fine.”

“All right, then. Should probably let the family know before they miss me and send out search peacocks.”

Harry starts. “Do they really …?”

Draco starts to roll his eyes and stops when it hurts. “I am sure they could and would if they thought the effort would result in enough pain for me. As it is, they restrict themselves to squawking through the night and attempting to commit suicide by annoyance.”

“I should go and get your family.” Harry glances at the clock on the wall and shakes his head. “It’s not even remotely bedtime. We’d only just have finished dinner if we’d stayed at the Manor.”

“Fabulous, now I’m hungry.”

“Are you really all right?” Harry is peering at him through his glasses in the way that emphasises their role as a focussing device.

“Sore, tired, a bit battered. Normal day out with Aurors,” Draco says with an exaggeratedly feeble grin.

“This is the second time you’ve been blown up in my company.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. On the other hand, the lengths you’ll go to to put the two of us into a life-threatening situation are actually quite flattering …”

Harry nearly smiles.

Draco holds out his hand, and Harry takes it. “You stay,” Draco says. “Send someone else for the others. You’ve got plenty of Aurors.” 

And then he just closes his eyes for a second, except he is really terribly tired, and when he wakes up Appleton is there again and she is holding onto Harry’s arm and saying for what must be the second or third time to judge by the tone of her voice: “I know it’s unnerving, but it is perfectly normal. He’s very fatigued and his brain will just let him sleep for brief periods for the next few hours until his body is tired enough to sleep properly through the night. Rest is the best thing for him. We are monitoring him, you’re here to alert us to anything unusual, he’s doing very well.”

“So it’s all right for him to just drop off like that?” asks Harry.

“I do it in budget meetings all the time,” Draco mutters. “You never panic then.”

Harry turns, and his face is pinched.

“Probably because you’re doing the same thing,” Draco adds in a bid to raise a smile.

“It’s really all right,” Appleton assures them both. “Any change, Mr Malfoy?”

“A bit hungry, but I don’t think I could focus enough to eat.”

“I’ll have someone bring in some broth or a milk drink, take the edge off without you needing to navigate cutlery. That’s excellent. An appetite is just what we want.” She bustles from the room with reassuring smiles at them both. 

Draco is just about to hold his hand out to Harry again when Hannah Abbott appears at the door. 

“Malfoy!” she declares. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to end up in hospital again. And I hear that you’ve invented something that is guaranteed to make my life hellish. Typical. I was going to bring you grapes, but decided you were too annoying.”

“Hello, Hannah, I’m fine,” Draco says.

“Excellent,” says Hannah, swinging herself up onto the side of his bed. “I’ve grown accustomed to your pointy face haunting the corridors, and Potter’s more fun when you’re about.” 

Draco grins at Harry, who is looking anything but fun at the moment. 

“Stop it,” Draco says. “I know that face, that’s your _weight of the universe is bearing down upon me and it’s all my fault_ face, I’ve seen it before. I’m too tired to repeat all the wholly rational and extremely persuasive arguments I’ve used against it in the past. You’ll have to cast your mind back.”

Draco adds a smile that even Hannah’s expression suggests is charming, but Harry shakes his head.

“I will never get used to seeing people I care about hurt,” he says.

“Nor should you,” says Hannah, before Draco has a chance. “But it’s a bit of a stretch to assume that you have any control over the matter. We’re all living real lives in a dangerous world, Harry. You’ve spent the last thirty years trying to encourage those around you to develop the skills we need to survive. And you’ll notice that most of us have stayed alive, if occasionally dented.” 

She turns to Draco and winks. “Personally I use my scars to pick up – and no, I’m not going to tell you who or where – but since you’re seemingly saddled with this muppet, I suggest you just use those big bruised eyes of yours to demand he makes you tea.”

Draco laughs, even Harry looks as though he might smile. 

“We have a strictly near-death situation thing,” Draco tells her in confidence.

“Explains a lot. Potter, I need you to sign this.” She thrusts a piece of paper under Harry’s nose. “Overtime authorisation. I’m keeping it all low-key until tomorrow, just the core set who were still around when your report came in.”

Harry signs and hands the paper back. “You’ve only asked for enough to cover the weekend.”

“I expect the job to be done by then – I’ve left some very good people on it while I’m here. Talking about here, where are the Malfoy masses?” She looks at Draco’s guilty expression. “Ah. Well, since I didn’t bring you any grapes, why don’t I go and let your son and mother know where you are?”

“That would be lovely. And you’d better include my ex-wife or she’ll thump me.”

Hannah pats his arm gently. “After which I’ll go and make sure I find Byford before Savage and Williamson do, for similar reasons.”

Harry frowns at that. “They do remember they’re no longer Aurors, don’t they?”

“They allege they’re consulting. To be fair, they have stayed in the Ministry going through leads rather than haring off out into the field and doing something appalling.”

“What were they doing in the office this late on a Friday, anyway?”

Hannah looks as though she is going to resist answering for a moment, but then confesses: “Interdepartmental Exploding Snap game. It’s been going for about six months. You might need to increase Amundsen’s pay, Draco, I think they’ve taken him for a few hundred Galleons so far.”

“I should be surprised,” Draco muses, “and yet, I find it wholly plausible.” 

“Nothing surprises me with those two,” Harry mutters. “I just hope they never make friends with Fortherington.”

“Oh Merlin …” Draco breathes in horror at the idea.

Hannah looks at both of them. “That’s your tech boy, isn’t it? Good lad, that one. Apparently I owe him a serious beverage for accidentally keeping the two of you alive. Work would be tedious without you.”

“Flatterer,” says Draco. “Go and break the very slightly less than ideal news to the set at the Manor, would you? I seem to be more awake now, that will reassure them.”

Hannah drops a brief and unexpected kiss on Draco’s cheek, and is gone before he can say anything about it.

“She’s really very nice …” Draco sighs in her wake.

“Hannah? Nice?” Harry blinks. “Well, I suppose … once you get past the scary and terrifying bits.”

“They’re my favourite Hannah bits.” At the expression on Harry’s face, Draco replays that sentence in his head. “That came out wronger than I meant it to. I think I might still be a bit groggy.”

Harry takes his hand and squeezes it. “Groggy or far more damaged than we’d thought. No, keep your eyes open. Don’t go back to sleep, we need to talk before the others get here.”

“I thought we’d established that if we survived it would go back to being a terrible idea,” Draco says tiredly, but he grins, so Harry will know he is not as serious as he should be.

“You kissed me,” Harry reminds him.

“With tongue,” Draco adds, a little giddily.

“I noticed. Oh for Merlin’s sake, Draco, keep your eyes open. We need to talk … at least, I need to …”

Harry’s voice is uncharacteristically serious, and Draco forces himself to open his eyes properly. Harry is frowning at him, but it’s not the sort of frown he used to have. It’s the nice frown, the frown from the last few years, the one that makes him look all soft and caring, which is funny, because Harry isn’t soft, and Draco has completely lost track of what Harry is wittering on about. 

“And I’ve just been pushing you and not listening to what you were saying,” Harry says. “So it’s all right if you want to pretend that none of that happened. You’re probably right about this being a bad time, with the boys, and everything …”

Draco’s eyelids are so heavy, but he struggles to keep them open. “It _is_ a bad time,” he says, and he means to go on to say that it will probably always be a bad time, because it will be years before either of them has a chance to sit back and think their way through anything before they actually do it, but that just _doing_ things has served them pretty well so far, at least, that is to say, it’s served Harry well, and Draco thinks it seems to be working for him, too, of late – certainly more than it did when he was young – and bugger it, let’s just throw caution to the wind, because no one is getting any younger in this room. 

But he slips out of consciousness after five words and when he wakes up a short time later, Harry’s hand has been replaced by Scorpius’s, and his mother is smoothing back his hair, and Draco can hear Hannah Abbott talking in the background.

“He’s actually fine,” she is saying. “That whole pale and interesting thing is an affectation so that any bruises will show up well. Really it’s just an overt play for sympathy. I was chatting with him before I came to get you lot and he was ever so bossy, demanding chocolates and very expensive tea. Oh, there he is, awake again.”

“And here you are, with no tea, I see,” Draco says, grateful that Hannah’s nonsense has relieved the tension in his son’s face. He smiles at her, and it hurts much less to smile now, thank Merlin for healing potions. 

“I don’t do tea, Malfoy,” she replies with a headshake. “And I share my chocolate with no one. If you’d asked for Ogden’s, you might have had a chance.” 

Narcissa snorts indelicately, and even Scorpius actually smiles at that. Draco makes a note to send Hannah a large amount of firewhisky. Or perhaps a smaller amount and someone appealing to drink it with.

“What have you done to yourself, Dad?” Scorpius asks, trying very hard to keep the smile on his face.

“I was accosted by a horticultural treatise,” Draco replies.

Scorpius’s smile slides a little. “That’s not as funny as you think it is.” 

“It’s true! Ask Harry.”

Harry has moved to the far side of the room, with Albus beside him, and he nods when everyone turns to him. His voice sounds deliberately light when he speaks. “Clocked him on the side of the head. Our plan was genius, save that we underestimated the aerodynamic force of reference books.”

Scorpius sighs, and his voice is not quite joking when he says: “When will you two remember that Dad’s an Unspeakable? He’s meant to sit in a laboratory, tinkering. Not run around the place getting blown up. You need to stop getting him into trouble, Mr Potter.”

Draco is still looking at Harry, and sees him wince at this. “I know what I’m meant to be doing,” Draco says, patting his son’s hand. “And I had a realisation today.”

Scorpius puts up with having his hand patted. “What’s that?”

“That you’d be fine, no matter what happened.”

“I wouldn’t,” Scorpius says, his face and voice serious.

Draco smiles at him. “You would. Oh you’d be miserable, which is only right and proper, but you’re a wonderful young man who is capable of making his own way in the world. And you’re surrounded by people who love you. You don’t need me any more.”

“It’s not a question of need, Dad,” Scorpius says quietly. “And besides, you’re an idiot. I absolutely do need you. We all do. Me most of all. Tell him, Granny.”

Narcissa reaches across Draco to pat her grandson’s arm. “I know exactly what you mean, darling,” she says. “And I know exactly what he means. You’re both completely right.”

Scorpius begins to protest, but Narcissa speaks over him, addressing her son. “Hannah tells me that you did some terribly clever things, and that you’ve uncovered the man behind all this.”

“Who is it?” ask Albus and Scorpius together, other matters forgotten for the moment.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Harry and Draco reply in similar unison. Now is not the time for lengthy explanations, nor any further teenaged dramatics when the culprit’s name is revealed.

“I want it on record that I wasn’t that complimentary about you,” Hannah says. “I think I said you managed not to balls it up with minimal fuss. On that topic, I need to get back before Savage and Williamson do something appalling. Try not to get into any more trouble, any of you.” She glares at each of them, though her lips twitch when Narcissa winks back.

“Where’s Helene?” Draco asks, realising who is missing. 

“Someone had to referee at your place,” Hannah says. “You’ve got half of Hogwarts there, and Lester from Legal is in no way up to managing them all.”

“What, you left everyone there?” He shakes his head at his son. “Think of the tapestries, think of your grandmother’s cake collection, think of the peacocks!”

Draco’s hyperbolic crescendo raises the smile he was hoping for on his son’s face. 

“It will be fine. Mum’s there, so’s Lester, and he’s a good manager, really.” Scorpius frowns a little at Hannah, but his heart is not in it. 

“He is,” Draco concedes, “but your schoolmates have a genius for mischief. And you’ve left Lily and James without Albus, which is a recipe for disaster. And someone has to reassure your mother that I am almost completely fine and there’s no need for her to brave St Mungo’s this time.”

Scorpius smiles at that. “Auror Abbott told her you would be perfectly fine, and that she would come back for her immediately if you started to do anything dramatically ill.”

Draco contemplates finding Hannah _two_ nice young people to amuse herself with. “Well, Hannah knows best,” he says. “But I will be nodding back off to sleep in the not too distant future and I don’t want the lot of you spending the night in the hospital. None of us actually like it here, and they’re planning on sending me home in the morning. I only asked Hannah to bring you because you’d have made such a fuss if I’d kept it all quiet.”

“We’d have missed you at some point through the evening,” Narcissa assures him.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Scorpius says.

“Harry’s already said he’ll stay,” Draco replies. 

Scorpius turns for confirmation, and Harry nods readily enough, it’s just that there’s a level of politeness to the nod that strikes Draco as odd. One of the functional parts of his brain tells him that he should pay attention to this, but it is outvoted by the parts angling for another brief period of unconsciousness. 

“Really, I’m just in need of a good sleep,” he says. “And I won’t get that if I’m worried about you sitting up all night. Albus, take him back home, would you? And my mother. And reassure them both if they get into a state. Hannah, tell them to go.”

Hannah harrumphs from the doorway. “Bring them here, Hannah, send them home, Hannah. I have work to do, you know. Right. Anyone not Head Auror, bugger off. Malfoy will be fine and if he sleeps well and eats his breakfast they’ll let him out by lunch.”

Scorpius looks as though he might try another round of protests, but Narcissa kisses Draco’s forehead and pats his hair into place. “Get some sleep. We’ll stop inconveniencing the lovely Auror Abbott.”

“You’re really fine?” Scorpius asks.

“Bugger of a headache and it’s a stretch to stay awake, but yes.”

“All right.” And after a moment’s hesitation he hugs Draco tightly. “Just don’t go anywhere. No gallivanting. Get some sleep and get better.”

“Get well, Mr Malfoy,” Albus says, frowning a little as he looks back at his own father. Draco thinks he should pay more attention to that, but the lure of the comfy pillow is too strong. He is asleep before they have all left the room.

When he wakes up, the hospital has that level of dimness that tells him it is seriously night now, and that even the staff are snatching some sleep where they can, secure in the knowledge that warning spells will wake them if anyone is taking a turn for the worse. 

Harry is sprawled in a chair beside the bed, with another chair drawn up for his feet. He has taken his glasses off to sleep, and Draco is surprised at how young he looks without the familiar lenses. In the half-light, all the fine lines that Draco knows are there seem smoothed away, and Harry looks young again.

Except that … when they were young, neither of them looked like that. They looked thin and desperate, angry and haunted. 

Now, Harry looks peaceful and content. Draco watches him for a while in the half-light. He considers waking him up, explaining what he was going to say earlier, but there is a figure at the door. 

“Are you awake?” Healer Appleton whispers.

“Yes,” Draco replies just as quietly.

“I’m about to finish my shift. Wanted to check on you before I left. They tell me you had hordes in to visit you earlier.”

“Just my mother and son. And Albus Potter. And an Auror, but she mostly stood in the doorway and glared.” 

Appleton chuckles. “I had the kitchen make you some broth, but you were asleep by the time I came back, so I let Mr Potter have it. Would you like anything now?”

“No, I’m not particularly hungry.”

“How is your head feeling?”

“Better. Less poundy, and certainly clearer.”

“Excellent.” She comes closer and holds her hand up against the light coming in from the doorway. “Can you see that?”

“Yes.”

“How many fingers?”

“Five. Now three, now one rather rude one.”

“Now?”

“Deformed rabbit.”

“It’s a classic. Good. You’ll be happy to know that according to the monitoring spells, you’re doing very well indeed. You’ll be able to go home in the morning. Just try to get some more sleep between now and then. And try not to get blown up again. Twice is more than enough.”

Draco promises that he will be more careful in future, and thanks her. Once her footsteps have faded, he turns again to Harry. 

It would be easy to wake him now. Easy to clear everything up. A few more words would do the trick. 

And as Draco deliberately closes his eyes, he cannot decide if he is motivated by selflessness or quite astonishing cowardice. But at least he is honest enough not to pretend he is merely tired this time.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Healer McLeary is on duty when Draco wakes up in the early morning. She checks his eyes and responses quietly, while Harry continues to sleep.

“Can I go home?” Draco asks. 

“You can. You’re doing beautifully. Would you like to escape before breakfast? It’s allegedly porridge, but it’s grey.”

“Thanks, Maggie. I think there will be something better at home.”

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t. Say hello to Narcissa for me, tell her I’m looking forward to the committee next week.”

“I will. Try to keep her out of trouble, would you?”

McLeary snorts. “She’s not the one who keeps ending up in here.”

“ _Twice_. The other times were all visits.”

“Many people of my acquaintance make it through life without being blown up once. Anyway, here’s Tariq with your clothes. Hop into them and you can head off. Thanks, Tariq. Can you go and check on the Bubotuber allergy in room 17? She scratched her dressings off earlier. I’ll be along shortly.”

She helps Draco from his bed and out of his hospital pyjamas. “Young Potter will do his back a permanent damage if his friends don’t start a concerted effort to look after themselves. Too many nights in chairs, that one.” 

Draco pulls on his trousers rather than look at Harry. “He’s very committed to his work, takes our safety very seriously.”

“True,” says Healer McLeary. “Though, between you and Mr Weasley, I am surprised he has time for work between hospital visits.”

“Oh, honestly. _Twice_! In twenty years. And I know for a fact Ron has only been here once in the last three. It’s not as though I make a habit of this sort of thing.”

“See that you don’t,” McLeary tells him, grinning at his annoyance. “Here, we had some trouble with this shirt, I think they might have taken a bit of the colour out along with the blood. But it’s nice and clean. Ah, good morning, Harry. Sorry to have woken you.”

Draco turns around before he can stop himself. Harry is fumbling his glasses into place and starts to smile at him, then falters mid-smile, and drags his eyes over to Healer McLeary instead.

“Hard to sleep for too long in these chairs, but I was too lazy to transfigure a bed. How are you, Maggie?”

“Well, thanks. You?”

“Tired, but fine. How’s the patient?”

“He’s done very well. We’re sending him home. I understand you’ve been staying with the Malfoys, can I leave you to supervise him for the next 24 hours or so? He should be fine, just keep an eye out for anything strange.”

Draco speaks quickly, so there will be no opportunity for any uncomfortable silences. “Oh Maggie, how could anyone tell if I were acting strange? And besides, I have mother, Scorpius, probably Helene and definitely an army of house-elves if not rampaging masses of school children at the house. Harry has work to do, we cracked the case last night.”

Harry is frowning a little now. “Yes. Yes we did. Hannah Abbott is in charge while I’m away, and I’ll never hear the end of things if she has it all sorted by the time I get back.”

“You see?” says Draco, buttoning his shirt. “No need to inconvenience the Head Auror.”

“No,” Harry echoes with a small smile. “No need.”

Healer McLeary looks at each of them. “But you’ll be able to take Draco home, yes? He’s not to Apparate for himself for at least three days.”

“Of course,” says Harry. “I have to pick up the children, anyway. And I need to collect my things.”

Draco doesn’t say a word. He is getting quite good at this cowardice thing. All that early practice …

“Thank you, Harry. I’ve written out his care instructions, just make sure Narcissa gets them and tell her that I am serious about the no alcohol. But he’s allowed to take exercise if he feels up to it, just no high flying for a few days, and someone should keep an eye on him today, even in the shower or bath.”

“Steady on,” says Draco. 

“Hot water can cause giddiness, and you’re in no state to take another tumble,” McLeary says.

“I’ll instruct the house-elves,” Harry promises.

And he doesn’t even grin. 

Draco feels a flash of irrational annoyance. Absolutely irrational, because this is exactly the outcome he was angling for last night. But, honestly, when has Harry ever given up on anything this easily? And one would think that he would hesitate before letting the man with the head injury dictate the terms of their relationship. 

“Do you want to put your boots on?” McLeary asks.

“What? Oh, yes. Thank you.” He takes the proffered footwear and bends down to put them on, which is a terrible move because the world is suddenly shifting and he pitches forward sharply into McLeary’s arms. 

Happily, she is there to catch him. “Easy does it,” she says, steadying him. 

Harry is suddenly there beside him, lifting him back onto the bed and taking the boots. “Is he all right?”

“I’m fine, just dizzy.”

“No sudden movements, sit down rather than bend over, no getting up quickly,” McLeary instructs. 

“Give me your feet,” says Harry, who proceeds to reunite Draco’s feet with socks and boots in businesslike fashion. “There. You’re sorted.” He turns to McLeary. “Is there anything else? Paperwork he needs to sign? Medication?”

“No, just take this scroll, it outlines everything, including symptoms to look out for. If he starts exhibiting any of those, you’re to come straight back for mild ones or summon one of us immediately if it is more serious.”

“Thank you. Are you all right to leave, Draco?”

Draco nods, not trusting himself to say anything at this precise moment. 

“Do you mind if we Apparate from here rather than the foyer? The _Prophet_ probably has someone down there by now.”

“Not at all,” says McLeary. “You take care of yourself, Draco. I only want to see you on social occasions.”

“Thanks, Maggie. Give my best to Henry and the children.”

“I will. Best dash, before young Tariq lets that girl scratch her arms off.”

“Right,” says Harry, as Maggie leaves the room. “Let’s get you home and me out of your hair.”

Draco nods again. 

Harry helps him to his feet and puts an arm lightly around his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

And Harry tightens his grip for a moment, and Draco takes advantage of the fact that he is injured to rest his head on the leather shoulder of Harry’s Auror coat for possibly the last time and then the world spins more than he is used to and by the time he finds his equilibrium again he is in his own kitchen and Scorpius and Albus are helping him into a chair while Harry fetches a glass of water. 

“You could have said that you were being let out and we could have sent a Knight Taxi,” Scorpius is scolding. “You’re not well enough to Apparate.”

“I didn’t, Harry did. I’m just dizzy, give me a minute and I’ll be fine.”

Harry pulls the scroll from his pocket. “This is for you and Narcissa,” he tells Scorpius. “Instructions for taking care of him. The Healers said he needs to be careful but he should be completely healed in a few days, a week at the outside.”

“Thank you,” says Scorpius politely. “We’ll manage him.”

“Right. Well, We’d best go and pack, Albus. Need to get you and the others to your mother’s.”

Albus looks at his father in confusion. “I thought Mum was still on North Rona. We had plans for spending the weekend here. We were going out with Lester.”

“Lester will understand. Ginny’s come back a bit early to see everyone,” Harry tells him. “Go and wake up your brother and sister.”

“Well, we can go and you can stay here,” Albus suggests. “Mr Malfoy needs people to take care of him, and there’s only Scorpius and Narcissa.”

“I’m fine,” Draco assures him. 

“Helene will stay on, and there are plenty of house-elves,” Harry adds.

“I only need someone to keep an eye on me for a day or so, it’s nothing serious. Your father has work to do, and I’m just a distraction.”

And it’s possible that Albus hears the faint note of self-pity that Draco is unable to keep from his voice, because he stops arguing and just frowns at all of them. 

“Do either of you need help packing?” asks Scorpius. “I can call house-elves.”

“I’ll be fine,” says Harry.

Albus just glares at the back of Scorpius’s head. 

“In that case, I’ll order breakfast. You should eat before you leave. Dad, are you hungry, or do you just want to go to bed? I can have a tray sent up.”

The thought of having to sustain conversation through breakfast is too much for Draco, he opts for bed and a tray. 

Scorpius diligently escorts him up to his room and sits him down in one of the comfy chairs. “Would you like pyjamas?”

“No, I’d like to stay out of bed for a bit. I might try reading, or listening to the wireless.”

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Something light. Juice and toast will do. I think I’ll have a shower later, and yes, I’ll summon an elf to stand in the corner and make sure I stay upright.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “You fuss over me when I’m injured, I’m allowed to do the same for you.”

“I’m your father, it’s my job to fuss. Anyway, I’m not very injured and I’ll be fine shortly, so don’t make a big fuss, it doesn’t warrant one.”

They sit comfortably together for a few minutes. In the distance, Draco can hear voices signalling more people awake in the house. 

“How many did we end up with last night?” he asks. 

“About ten, and Lester. He insisted on staying when we went to the hospital because he said it wasn’t fair to leave Mum to handle everyone on her own.”

Draco nods. Then hesitates. “You don’t think …”

Scorpius laughs. “No! Mari would kill him, for a start. And if Mummy was going to turn to the younger generation, she’d start with someone a bit less young. She said that she was going to have some of your Unspeakables over in August, I suspect she has terrible plans.”

“She says these things to annoy me. None of them are rich or interesting enough for her.”

They both smile at the truth in that. 

“Dad …”

“Yes?”

“Are you angry with Mr Potter?”

“Why do you ask?”

Scorpius shrugs. “You two seem different with each other.” Then he adds, “I am.”

“Why on earth?”

“Because he let you get hurt, again. He keeps forgetting that you’re not an Auror, that you’re not trained for dangerous situations. And you let him, it’s like a game to you two. But he should know better.”

Draco shakes his head. “That’s not what happened. Harry is very careful, it wasn’t his fault. It was mine, if anyone’s. I should have been far more circumspect and brought a much larger team along. I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“That doesn’t matter. The point is that it wasn’t Harry’s fault that we ended up trapped. As it turns out, all of the recent cases tie together and we were actually targets all the way along, we just didn’t know it.”

“You were a target? Why?”

And Draco realises that the papers will arrive shortly. “Go and get the Potters,” he says. “All of them. You should hear this from me and Harry, and we may as well tell you all together.”

“But …”

“Scorpius, just get them.”

A few minutes later, Lily staggers into Draco’s room, still wearing her pyjamas, followed by a slightly more awake James, and then Albus, who is alert and concerned. 

“We should tell them about Byford,” Draco says, as Harry completes the set.

“Ah,” says Harry, nodding. 

Albus frowns. “Byford? Terrance Byford?”

“That little weasel from school?” James asks. 

“No,” says Harry. “His father, Martyn.”

Albus looks between the two adults. “Is he the one behind everything?”

“Yes,” says Draco. “Everything points to that. Hannah Abbott is working with a team to bring him in now. We didn’t want you lot to hear about it in the papers and leap to the wrong conclusions.”

“What, that it was some sort of revenge attack for Terrance being expelled?” Albus asks with disturbing accuracy. “Because it does seem that’s the only logical explanation for the two of you being targeted by him, unless there’s something more you haven’t told us.”

“No,” says Harry, “It’s not … well, yes, actually, that was his motive as far as we can tell. But we just wanted to reassure you children that it’s nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it isn’t,” says James. “Byford tried to kill me, and very nearly killed Scorp. We were victims in the whole thing. If his father thinks otherwise, he’s several dry toads short of a Potions cabinet.”

Draco blinks.

“There is something terribly wrong with that whole family,” Lily agrees, yawning. “Absolutely out of touch with reality.”

“He really tried to kill you two in revenge for his son being rapped over the knuckles?” Scorpius asks. “I’m a bit pissed off about that, actually. Fucking outraged, if we’re being honest.”

“Language,” Draco chides. “I’m going to have to ban you from talking to Hannah if you keep that up.”

Harry smiles. “I have to say that I’m pleased. We were a bit worried that you might take it personally.” 

Albus smiles. “So you two have just been upset for us? There’s no need. I mean, it’s a shock, but it’s not our fault. We’re not responsible for someone else’s madness.”

“Exactly,” Draco agrees. “It’s good that you can see that so clearly.”

“It’s a relief,” Albus says. “The two of you were so weird last night and this morning that I thought you must have had a fight or something. But it was just stupid parent stuff. You forget, we’re all pretty grown up.”

“Yes,” says Draco. “We do forget that sometimes.” 

“No fight,” Harry adds. “We’re on exactly the same terms as we were last week.”

“Exactly,” Draco agrees, carefully.

“Except that I have a criminal to catch and you have a concussion to nurse. So we should get out of your hair. I’ve roused the leftovers from last night’s party and sent them down to start sorting breakfast, we should all be gone within the hour.”

Draco appreciates the effort that Harry has made to keep his tone normal. “Thanks. I think I’ll just sit here for a bit, eat something, and then sleep more later. Scorpius, go and eat breakfast with Albus, you won’t be seeing him for a few days. You can send up a house-elf with my breakfast and I will be happily supervised. I’m not up to chatting, really.”

“I …”

“You can come and sit with me after everyone goes.”

Albus takes Scorpius’s hand and leads him out. “Get well, Mr Malfoy!” he says over his shoulder. 

“I will, just need to rest.”

James shakes Draco’s hand. “Thank you for keeping Dad safe. He hasn’t told us any details yet, but if there was a complicated trap, I’m guessing you sorted it.”

Draco can’t help laughing.

“Ingrate!” Harry says, but he is smiling. “Come on, you’re not half-packed.” He turns back to Draco for a moment. “I’ll send word when we catch Byford.”

“Thanks.”

Lily is still rubbing sleep from her eyes as her father and brother leave the room. She flings her arms around Draco’s neck and kisses his cheek gently. “I’m very pleased you weren’t badly hurt, Mr Malfoy. Get well soon and come and visit us. Though not at Mum’s, because that might not be a good idea.”

Draco pats her back, and promises that he will. She stumbles off, stifling a yawn, and he is left in blessed silence.

One of the new elves appears with his breakfast a few minutes later. Draco decides that he can manage butter and jam on his toast, and probably even half a cup of tea. The sound of his chewing and swallowing is improbably loud inside his head, but then, the painkilling potions are starting to wear off, and his headache is returning. He decides to have a quick shower and slip into bed for a while rather than take another potion. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” he tells the elf. 

“Larky, master.”

“This is going to sound strange, but would you mind staying in the bathroom while I take a shower? I’m not tremendously steady on my feet at the moment.”

The elf blinks slowly. “Is the master making an improper suggestion? Because Larky doesn’t–”

“Merlin, no!” Draco interrupts. “I’m just not well, and apparently hot water can make me dizzy.”

“Larky could spell the shower walls and floor soft and then wait outside the door and rush in if he hears a thump,” the elf offers.

“Sounds like an excellent solution,” Draco accepts gratefully. “No need for public nudity, I say.”

“Larky agrees with master!”

Draco makes a mental note never, ever, to ask where this elf has come from.

The soft shower walls work a treat, he is able to lean back into their cushiony forms while the water runs over him. Feeling properly clean is a definite improvement, and his own pyjamas are several steps above the St Mungo’s version. He has just picked up a book and climbed under his sheets when Scorpius returns and sits down on the foot of the bed. 

“Everyone is off, even Lester. He says he’ll come back this afternoon after you’ve had some rest. Mum’s up, but she sent me in to see if you were up for a visitor or if you wanted to sleep. Granny decided to sleep in but says she’s pleased you’re home and you must be doing well.”

Draco smiles. “And what about you? Did you sleep last night? You don’t look as though you did.”

“Not much,” Scorpius confesses.

“Then tell your mother to come and visit and you hop back to bed for a bit yourself.”

“All right.” 

“And Scorpius?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t blame Harry. It wasn’t his fault.”

Scorpius gives him a short, fierce hug. “I know,” he says. “But I just want a Potter-free day or two. Just us. You scared me, Dad, and I didn’t like it.”

Draco sighs as his son walks quickly from the room, not looking back. When Helene was pregnant, he had promised himself that their child would never have cause to worry about him. But he had forgotten that Scorpius would grow up. 

“Are you awake?”

Helene is leaning against the doorjamb in a fashion that years ago would have left Draco very much awake. Now it is more usually a precursor to her wanting to have a chat about their son, or about some cause that she has possibly committed him to supporting.

“I am,” Draco says, smiling. “Come in.”

“You look pale, and they did not finish healing that bruise.”

“I’m fine, just tired and a bit sore. They said it wasn’t serious.”

She climbs up onto the bed beside him. “It could have been. Hannah told us that you did something very clever to save you both last night.”

Draco rests his head on her shoulder. “I did. Had to, I invented something that nearly got us killed, and that would have been enormously embarrassing. Couldn’t leave you with an obituary that used the word ‘ironically’.”

“Silly man.” Helene kisses the top of his head. “Harry went home.”

“Yes, I know.” 

“Have you done something stupid?”

“Probably.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Draco nestles against her. “Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Do you want to talk about anything else?”

“I’m tired.”

She picks up the book he has abandoned on the pillows. “Close your eyes. I will read to you and you can go to sleep. I’ll stay to make sure you are all right.”

Draco drifts off to the sound of his ex-wife’s voice, and her warmth. 

It feels as though he has barely closed his eyes before he is jolted into wakefulness by a knock at his door. 

“Shhh,” Helene hisses, but too late.

“Sorry.” It’s Scorpius. “I thought Dad would be up by now. Sebastien Fotherington is downstairs, he was hoping to have a word.”

He must have slept a bit, because he is feeling significantly better. “Tell him I’ll be ten to fifteen minutes,” Draco says.

“Are you sure?” Helene asks. She is still on the bed, and has apparently continued reading to herself as she is most of the way through his book.

Draco nods, and it barely hurts. “I just need to wash my face and get dressed.”

“I’ll grab some clothes for you. Scorpius, go and entertain Mr Fotherington, we won’t be long.”

Helene has chosen his shirt and trousers before Draco is even out of bed. “Do you need a hand?” she asks. 

“Probably with my trousers and shoes, if you could. I’m sure I can manage a faceful of cold water and brushing my teeth, though.” 

“Excellent. You can listen to me talk about my plans for next week, then. I was going to see an experimental concerto, today, but I decided I preferred you, mostly because it was likely to be dire and you are reliably amusing.”

“I’ve been asleep,” Draco reminds her.

“Yes, for hours, but you make that little snuffling noise. Anyway, someone else will have to be caring and thoughtful tomorrow, because I am going over to visit Hermione and Ron. She and I are going to talk about the nature of space and matter, while Ron does his therapy. On Monday, I was planning on bringing one of the St Mungo’s governors over so that we could talk about the fundraiser.” 

“You’re going ahead with that?” Draco asks, his voice only slightly garbled by toothpaste.

“Yes, of course. It will annoy you, give Narcissa and me something to busy ourselves with over summer, and afford me the opportunity for much dancing with young men. It’s a brilliant plan, and I expect your full support. Are you done with that? Right, sit down and let’s get your trousers on.”

“How times have changed,” Draco sighs.

Helene grins up from below. “Be quiet, you terrible man, or I will put your shoes on the wrong feet. I know full well that you are not pining for me, and we are apparently not talking about your actual pining, so, put your foot in here. Right, and the other. Here you go, you can button and buckle from there.”

“Thank you.”

She kisses his cheek. “Take better care of yourself. Off you go, I’m going to stay here for a bit and finish your book.”

Fotherington is finishing up a sandwich in the small study when Draco finds him. Scorpius is sitting with him, chatting politely about Muggle tech, but happily flees at the first available moment. 

“Mr Malfoy,” says Fotherington. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks largely to your explosives report, in fact,” Draco replies, patting the younger man’s shoulder.

“Really?” Fotherington brightens up. “I read Auror Abbott’s report and she mentioned something like that, but I thought she was just taking authorial liberties.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. In fact, I’m considering increasing your pay, since you saved the heads of two Ministry departments.” 

Fotherington smiles. Then frowns. “But sir, I don’t understand why you didn’t shatter the MPP.”

“It was reinforced, Fotherington. Like one of your boxes in the office.”

“Yes, sir, but even then.” He looks at Draco for any sign of understanding. 

Draco has no idea what he is talking about. 

“You did help invent MPP, sir,” Fotherington says, with barely concealed disappointment.

“Only the spells, Fotherington, and they held together brilliantly.”

“But the crystallinity of the polymer, Mr Malfoy, surely you took that into consideration?”

“I may have,” Draco says, “had I known what it was.”

Fotherington shakes his head. “Can I show you, sir?”

“You’ve brought along an experiment, haven’t you?”

Fotherington needs no words to convey the fact that, _obviously_ he brought experimental evidence to prove his point.

“Please,” says Draco.

Fotherington takes a sheet of MPP from his satchel and puts it on the ground. He picks up a bust of Abraxas Malfoy from the desk. “May I?”

Draco has always hated that sculpture. “Go ahead.”

With a decisive gesture, Fotherington smacks the corner of the bust’s base down onto the polymer, shattering the MPP, but sadly leaving the bust intact. 

He looks up at a shocked Draco. “Very strong, if you hit it with a broad surface, easily broken if you hit it with a point. Like safety glass,” he explains. “It was in my report, page one hundred and eighty-six.”

“Sebastien, in the history of the Ministry, has anyone but you ever read all of a report?”

“Lester may have. I think Mrs Granger-Weasley does.”

“I could have killed myself, and Harry.”

“But you didn’t, sir. You rose to the challenge!”

Draco takes a deep breath. “We have this thing, Sebastien, we call it a precis. It’s a little bit at the start of a report where you sum up all the very important information that is contained within the report. Now I can understand where we may not want the general public or indeed the rest of the Ministry to understand what it is that we do, but I think that within our own department, we might look at making the precis a part of our everyday processes.”

“Yes sir. Does that mean no pay rise, sir?”

Draco stifles a smile. “I think some extra Galleons may remain in order. Now, what are you actually here for? Was it just to point out that I am a duffer, or have you come for advice about Alice? That’s tonight, isn’t it?”

Fortherington’s eyes widen. “Merlin no! I mean, yes, it is tonight, but no thank you, I don’t need advice. I wanted to ask if you were all right with me coming into the office and helping Auror Abbott out tomorrow – she says she’ll have evidence for me to take a close look at.”

“What about Alice?”

Fotherington blushes. “I’ve told Auror Abbott I’m only available in the afternoon.”

“Good lad,” Draco smiles. “That’s fine, but make sure you take Monday off, you’ve worked too many hours lately, even your overtime isn’t covering it.”

“I like working, sir.”

“Yes, but you might like doing other things, as well.”

“I did start on a little side hobby this morning,” Fotherington confesses.

“Excellent!”

“It’s a solvent that can eat through MPP in case something like last night ever happens again.”

Draco pats Fotherington’s shoulder. “You’re an asset to the department, Sebastien.” 

He goes to his desk and ferrets through one of the drawers before pulling out an envelope. “Here,” he says, tossing it to Fotherington. “I always keep some pounds about in case we need them. You treat Alice tonight, tell her it’s a bonus from your employer.”

“Isn’t it?” asks Fotherington, slightly confused.

“No, Sebastien, it’s a gift from a friend.”

“Oh. That’s nice of you, sir. Thank you.”

And Draco manages not to laugh as gratitude and terror fight for supremacy on Fotherington’s face. He takes pity. “It’s for not laughing about the fact I didn’t know MPP could be shattered, and a bribe to keep it secret.”

Fotherington relaxes. A bribe is much less stressful than an unsolicited gift. “I wouldn’t have laughed, sir, it could have been tragic.”

“Indeed. Now, go home, brush your hair, and remember that Alice probably does like you for your mind, so don’t be afraid to show you have one.”

They both stand, and for one horrifying moment, it looks as though Fotherington may be about to hug Draco, but he shakes his hand instead. “I really am glad you’re all right, sir. Please tell Mr Potter that I’m happy he’s fine, too.”

Draco promises that he will. He does not add that it might be faster if Fotherington tells Harry himself. He’s not sure he’s willing to face that possibility yet.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o


	5. Chapter 5

Helene wakes him twice through that night to check on him, as per healer McLeary’s instructions. Maggie herself pops by mid-Sunday morning, allegedly to drop off a copy of the committee minutes and agenda to Narcissa, but she takes the time to check Draco thoroughly. 

“Marvellous. No Apparating or flying above two metres for another two days, rest as you feel the need, otherwise, you should be fine.”

Helene holds to her plan of visiting Ron and Hermione and returns home late in the day brimming with stories and laden down with boxes of cakes, “Which Hermione told me I was to tell you she made as a gift for you, but actually, she said it was probably better if you know they came from Molly Weasley, but were made for Ron, so they won’t be poisoned, and they will taste excellent.”

She continues to share stories of her day as she bullies him back into his bedroom, Summons plates and cutlery and slices baked goods. “She and I are going to learn to bake properly, though, because it is important not to lose traditional skills. They said that you had to get well quickly so you can come and visit them and Ron can laugh at you and Hermione can be sympathetic.”

The cakes are, indeed, excellent, and Helene’s chatter improves a day that has been spent mostly in the company of his mother and son, with a great deal of resting and a deliberate absence of the name Potter. Draco does think that Harry could have sent a message to check on his health, though he supposes Maggie might have been asked to pass details back to the Auror Office.

The one moment of interest has been an owl from Fotherington asking for a copy of one of Draco’s new finding spells. Its arrival at 3pm has caused Draco to hope that Fotherington had a long and successful previous evening. 

He tells Helene about it when she has finished with her tales. They spend an amusing ten minutes imagining how Fotherington will have described what he does for a living and end up torn between him pretending to be a research scientist and an information specialist for a top-secret government organisation. 

“Probably the latter,” Draco concedes. “It being all-but true.”

“You told me you were a fashion designer when we met,” Helene reminds him. 

“I did no such thing,” Draco protests. Then, because he is mostly honest, adds, “You saw straight through me, and it was only because you were outside that boutique.”

Helene laughs. “It is what young people do. I pity Hermione, she never had any mysteries with her Ron.”

“Ron is possibly the least mysterious person we know,” Draco reminds her. 

“Yes, though it must be nice, understanding someone else so thoroughly, having known them for years, seen them in their worst hours, being able to see through their moments of foolishness …”

“I still don’t want to talk about it.”

Helene pats his hand. “Has he written today?”

“No.”

She puts her head to one side and peers at him. “You didn’t fall asleep immediately after an intimate interlude, did you? Because that always irritated me.”

“No!” 

Draco shakes his head in mock-despair. “And I only did that once, and I was very tired.”

“ _Once_ ,” Helene mutters, not quite under her breath.

“Why are we friends?” Draco asks. “Most divorced wives hate their ex-husbands and don’t pop up daily to make their lives miserable.”

“They lack foresight!” Helene declares. “How’s your head?”

“Much better. You’re a terrible person and I am sure you only visit because you take pleasure in my discomfort.”

“But of course. And you keep an excellent kitchen and cellar. Plus, sometimes there are handsome men.”

“Yes, Scorpius and I were both impressed that you didn’t turn your attentions on young Lester.”

“Lester?” she laughs. “He is a child, and he is too big – like a bear. I prefer men with cheekbones. At the fundraiser, we will invite many men with cheekbones, and you will have some reason to call me a terrible person, but it will all be in the name of charity.”

“I kissed him,” Draco confesses.

“And?”

“It went quite well, at the time. But I did it because I couldn’t bear for him not to know if things went badly.”

“Ah. And afterwards?”

“I may have … encouraged him to believe …”

“That it was just the moment?”

Draco nods. 

“Poor darling.” Helene brushes his hair back from his eyes. “And now you regret it?”

“It was probably the right thing to do,” he says.

“Yes, probably.” She smiles at him. 

“I had a whole list of reasons. They were very good. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I think you’re a dear man. Would you like me to stay tonight? Just so you’re not alone?”

Draco grins. “Why Helene de Dreux, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I am not _that_ lacking in handsome men with cheekbones.”

“Will you read to me?”

“Yes. That novel is very good, you will like the end.”

Draco wakes curled against her the next morning. Scorpius is standing at the door, staring in surprise. Draco sits up quickly.

Scorpius attempts to look nonchalant. “So, are you two …?”

“I am wearing pyjamas,” Helene points out.

“Yes, but they’re Dad’s.”

“If I was planning a torrid affair with your father, I would not be wearing his pyjamas. And I would have locked the door.”

“Sleepover,” Draco says. “You young people have them all the time, looked like fun.”

Scorpius regards them suspiciously. “Right. Well, I have an owl from Albus, he wants to come over for lunch. Can he?”

“Of course,” says Helene.

“I thought he was with his mother,” says Draco.

“She wasn’t expecting them until this afternoon, so Miss Lovegood and her son are over at her place, too, and they’ve all been there all weekend. He says it’s a bit chaotic. Mrs Potter says that it is fine for him to come and free up a bit of space.”

“Yes, of course,” says Helene. “Get him out of her hair. You may as well ask him to stay the night.”

Draco pinches her under the sheets, but she ignores him and smiles graciously as Scorpius declares her to be the best, then runs off to send an owl.

“So much for Potter-free days. You know what they’ll get up to,” Draco sighs, once he can no longer hear footsteps.

“They’re young, let them enjoy it.” Helene rolls onto her side and regards her ex-husband. “You know, he’ll be off making grand plans for Albus for at least two hours. And since he’s already assuming, we could …” She raises her eyebrow suggestively. 

Draco’s face desperately searches for a polite response. 

Helene is laughing loudly before he manages it. 

He pinches her again. “You really are the most dreadful person I know.”

“It was worth it!” she gasps. “Your panicked little face!” Peals of laughter ring out again, and a few moments pass before she can compose herself. 

“It’s all right, dear,” she says. “I know that I don’t come with some of the things you are looking for in a lover at the moment.”

Draco gapes. 

“I meant glasses.”

He snaps his mouth closed. “Of course you did.”

They are both up and dressed well before Albus arrives for lunch. Helene and Narcissa have set up a table in the garden and provided a buffet so that the young people can wander about and eat at leisure while they all keep an eye on Draco. 

“I’m perfectly fine today,” he mutters as they watch the boys wander off towards the maze, nearly making it to the privacy of the hedges before Albus’s hand reaches out to catch Scorpius’s and draw him close.

“You haven’t received an all-clear from a Healer,” Narcissa reminds him.

“Maggie said I was fine yesterday, I just had to take it easy until tomorrow. And you will note, I am taking it easy! I will take it easy all day and then tomorrow the two of you can stop treating me like a small child.”

“Oh, Draco,” says Helene, amused.

“Shh. Be kind and let it go.” 

Narcissa waves her wand lazily, fixing all of them cold drinks and sending a glass to hover beside each chair, along with a plate of cakes.

“Eat up,” she encourages. “We don’t want to be here when those two appear adjusting their clothes.”

In perfect synchronicity, Helene and Draco reach for their drinks. Draco is very sad to find that his contains no alcohol whatsoever.

The afternoon passes quietly. Although Draco assures everyone that he is perfectly recovered, he still feels tired. He has just put his feet up on the library’s comfiest ottoman for a pre-dinner nap when there is a knock.

“Albus?”

“Hello, Mr Malfoy, I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to have a quick word. Check that you’re really all right.”

Draco sits up properly. “I’m fine. How are you? I hear your mother’s house is a bit over-run.”

“She sends her best. Asked me to speak with you, actually. Says thanks for keeping Dad alive. That’s what I wanted to talk about, too.”

Albus swallows, then quickly goes on speaking, “To say thank you, that is. I know that Dad meant to, but then you were hurt and he probably forgot. He thinks the world of you, he’s just not very good at dealing with things when people close to him are hurt. Lily fell off my broom the first holiday I came home from school, and I thought he was going to have a heart attack. She was fine, but he didn’t talk to me for three days.”

Draco is glad his son loves this young man. “Thank you Albus. I really am fine. Your father has a lot on his mind at the moment. Do you know if he’s caught Byford yet?”

Albus looks at his feet. “I haven’t really seen him since yesterday. We’re at Mum’s, and he’s been working.”

“He really does have a lot on.”

Albus looks up at Draco. “When you said that you were just worried about us, that wasn’t really …”

Draco interrupts. “Albus, we’re meant to worry about you, not the other way around.” 

“Yes, Mr Malfoy, but …”

“It will be fine, Albus.”

“Really?”

Draco thinks for a moment. “I think so.” He smiles. “Harry was saying just the other day that our friendship would survive anything. I think that sometimes people just need a rest.”

Albus does not look entirely convinced, but he echoes Draco’s smile. “Well, rest quickly, Mr Malfoy.”

“I will, Albus. In fact, I was about to have a short nap when you appeared.”

“Sorry. I’ll let you get back to that.” 

Albus stops at the door, but doesn’t turn around. “Just … don’t be stubborn. Dad can be pretty stupid when he’s stubborn, and it wouldn’t be good if both of you were.”

“I won’t be stubborn, Albus,” Draco promises, and receives a nod in reply before Albus continues off.

And Draco tells himself that he will honour that promise. Even if he would prefer to honour it by graciously listening to an overture from Harry.

The nap turns out to be a mistake. He is tired and befuddled over dinner. Albus and Scorpius seem to be quietly arguing, and when Draco hears: “Well, have a word with him!” hissed by Albus, he is afraid he knows what their topic is. 

An owl arrives for him just as they finish their pudding, it is from Lester. Hannah has asked Lester to pass on the news they tracked Byford to Dieppe, but he managed to evade the French police, and they are yet to run him to ground. She sends her love, according to Lester, who somehow manages to simultaneously and between the lines convey both his doubts that she is being serious and his astonishment that Draco has managed to secure any of Hannah’s affections. 

Lester himself says that he is off to France, but would like to come by on Wednesday in the middle of the day, partly to see Scorpius at last and partly to fill Draco in on the events that have occurred since Friday night. Draco writes back immediately that Lester would be welcome, and then tells Albus he had better come for lunch on Wednesday. 

“I’m sure Mum will be fine with that,” says Albus. “Rose and Hugo were going to drop over, and the house will be bursting at the seams.”

“Do you have any more letters to write before you put your quill away?” Helene asks.

Draco gives her A Look, and hopes that will be the end of that.

“I am sure that you do,” she continues undaunted. 

“Don’t let us disturb you,” adds Narcissa. “We can all go and take a turn around the gardens.”

“Your idea of a turn always ends up with a peacock having one, Mother,” Draco says, not quite patiently. “I’ve finished my correspondence for the day.” 

He spots Albus looking at him and clearly thinking the word ‘stubborn’, even if he is too polite to say it. Draco relents a little.

“I’m too tired to manage anything else today. Tomorrow, when I am thinking more clearly.”

Albus exchanges a glance with Narcissa, which confirms Draco’s worst suspicions. He decides that this is an excellent night for going to bed early.

Although Draco is up before six the next morning, he is only just in time to say goodbye to Albus. 

“Lily Owled last night,” Scorpius explains when he returns from his private farewells. “She and James were at each other’s throats, so she asked Albus to get home as soon as he could before Ginny grounded both of them.”

Draco can’t help smiling.

“He’ll be back for lunch tomorrow,” Scorpius goes on. “And he said I could come over and stay for a bit soon, if that’s all right with you?”

“Of course,” says Draco. 

Scorpius sits down to join Draco for breakfast and manages to make it through two slices of toast and almost an entire cup of tea before he succumbs to the sulks.

Draco waits until he has finished his kedgeree and the _Prophet_ before he tosses a brioche at his son’s head. “It’s Tuesday,” he says. “I’m ungrounded, and I feel like flying. You in?”

“Seriously?” Scorpius’s eyes widen.

“Absolutely. Broom or bird? Professor McGonagall said you should practise over the holidays.”

Scorpius hesitates. “Broom,” he decides. “Can chat with you. And fly rings around you.”

“Cheek! Right, upstairs into something warmer. And tread quietly, your mother and grandmother are still asleep.”

“Is Mum in your room again?”

This time it is Draco who hesitates. “Yes, but only because she popped in to chat about you and her feet were getting cold. Don’t get any ideas in your head, it’s like you sharing a bed with … James. Yes. Like that.”

“Except without the half-hour of casual mentions that he is happily heterosexual,” Scorpius mutters.

Draco smothers a laugh. “Really?”

“I assume. We’ve never had to share a bed, so it’s just been the occasional offhand comment.”

“I’m guessing he believes he’s so handsome no-one can resist. I imagine you’ve never had any problems, though.”

“None.”

“Probably best you never mention this, I’m not sure his fragile ego could stand it.”

“I’m not sure his fat head would hear it.”

“Accuracy is no excuse for rudeness, Scorpius,” Draco says, not bothering to smother his laughter any longer. “Go and get a jumper. I’ll change and meet you at the broom room in ten minutes.”

Helene does not even stir as Draco pulls out his flying gear. She has stolen his favourite pillow and most of the bed space; he ended up last night chased into a corner by her questing cold feet. Draco smiles. It reminds him of being thirteen, and Pansy and Blaise piling into his bed on cold winter afternoons while they sent Greg and Vince out to find snacks. They would gossip and gorge on sweets and end up in a pile of napping before the prefects came through shouting at everyone to get dressed for dinner.

He resolves not to tell Helene that she reminds him of his schoolmates, buckles up his flying trousers, pulls on his gloves and sets off to meet with his son.

Scorpius is already sorting through the broom collection. Draco has kept every one that he has ever owned, bolstered by the spares from his brief period as a would-be pro player after his return to England, plus the set he bought for weekend games with friends. Scorpius has added not a few to the number over the years. And then there is the shiny Firebolt 30, its classic lines reminiscent of the original Firebolt – much loved by the man who owns this one. The man who had tossed it to him less than a week ago when they raced to save London from flooding. Ron’s is beside it, both stashed here in the chaos of that day.

“I thought Harry had taken that home,” Draco says, aware that Scorpius has noticed him staring.

“Must have forgotten.”

“Probably,” Draco agrees, reaching past it for the red Volare Alto, an Italian sportsbroom he bought himself for his fortieth birthday in a moment of mild mid-life crisis. 

“Are you going to take it back to him?” Scorpius affects disinterest.

“I’ll see him at work next week,” Draco says matter-of-factly. “He’ll let me know if he needs it before then. Come on, people will be up and about if we leave things much longer.”

The Manor is in a quiet part of Wiltshire, and aside from a few farmers concentrating on tractors and finishing the milking, there is no-one to see or hear the two figures who cut through the sky, laughing riotously. They resemble happy ravens, bent on morning mischief, which, coincidentally, is what one of those farmers would see were they to look up, thanks to a small Disillusionment. 

Draco delights in the sun seeping through the seams of his jacket and warming him even against the still-cold air that rushes in through the gap about his neck. Although the sun has only been on the fields of unripe barley beneath them for an hour or so, already the grain’s full, slightly beery fragrance is lifting up, contrasting with the bright green scent of the grassfield beyond. The stiffness and stillness of the last few days leaves his body, and he leans forward to urge his broom level with his son’s.

For his part, Scorpius is not showing his father any favours. “Come on, old man!” he urges over his shoulder, easing right into a languid barrel roll.

Draco describes a loop about his son’s trajectory, touching Scorpius’s hair as he flies past.

“Show off,” Scorpius says, laughing. 

“Make up your mind.”

They fly alongside each other, slower, taking in the landscape. 

“You’ll see Albus again tomorrow,” Draco says.

Scorpius looks at him, surprised. “How did you …?”

“I’m your father.”

Scorpius grins. “I just get used to him being there every day at school. I miss him.”

“Your mother lived in France when we were first seeing each other,” Draco says. “I’d find excuses to go and visit her. Your grandmother feigned an addiction to macarons and insisted I acquire a regular supply.”

“So that’s how that steady stream of pale-green boxes began ...”

“After the first box, she wasn’t feigning any longer,” Draco confessed.

“You and Mum really aren’t …?”

Draco shakes his head. “No, and we won’t. We stopped working as a couple years ago. If we’d tried to stay together we would have ended up hating each other. And I am far too fond of your mother to want that. We make excellent friends, and that’s how we should stay.”

Scorpius nods. “I just had to check.”

They fly a little more before Scorpius adds, “You should go and visit Mr Potter, he must be lonely with all the children away.”

Draco sighs at the turnaround in the conversation. “He’s busy, tracking down Byford.”

“You could give him back his broom.”

“Scorpius …”

“I’m just saying, it would be all right. I was … I was upset the other night. Really, it would be all right.”

And Draco half-hopes he will go on, and explain what would be all right and exactly how all right he would be with it, but Scorpius chooses that moment to wheel about and declare that he will race Draco home.

The Volare has excellent straight-line speed, but Scorpius has chosen a winding path back to the Manor, and so they reach the cypress hedge that marks the boundary to the gardens at the same time. Draco would complain about the brief moments of cheating that have littered the chase, but he is laughing too much.

“You’re not a bad flyer for someone so old,” Scorpius teases him.

“Behave, or I’ll confiscate all your brooms,” Draco teases back.

“Makes no difference to me!”

And Draco can see what his son is thinking and so nods, and drops his own broom into a sweep, allowing him to catch Scorpius’s, as the boy wheels away on wings that were arms half a second ago. 

That will always be astonishing, Draco thinks. And he wonders how it must feel. Scorpius has suggested he could learn the skill, but Draco knows his own limitations, knows that this particular genius is something beyond him. Though he would dearly love to fly like that. 

Instead, he flies as he has always done, with mundane grace, and lands, stowing both brooms beside the kitchen door and ambling out to watch his son transcribe a broad-winged arc, before the silhouette angles sharply and Scorpius dives down towards him, slowing and pulling up a few feet from the ground, then changing suddenly back into a boy, who runs a few steps as his feet reconnect with the earth.

Draco lets go of the breath he has been holding. He knows that he should say something cautionary, but instead … “That was extraordinary.”

“I’ve been practising,” Scorpius says, only a little proud. “Professor McGonagall says that the more seamless my transitions are, the better chance I’ll have if I ever need to Transfigure in an emergency.” 

Draco wraps his arms around Scorpius, who is still a little shorter, a little slighter, and kisses the top of his head while he can still reach it. “You are my brilliant boy.”

Scorpius hugs him back for a moment, and then he is nearly 17 again and far too old to be hugging his father. He stands back, and looks embarrassed, except … “I learned everything about transformation from you.”

Draco is surprised. “I was never that good … That’s a metaphor, isn’t it?”

Scorpius pats Draco’s shoulder. “I love you Dad. Stop worrying about everything. You’re pretty good, really. Just … be happy.”

“That’s practically un-British,” Draco teases.

“If we can’t manage a little happiness, what’s the point of all the hard work?” 

Right then, Draco has never been more profoundly and simply glad for the differences between his son and himself at that age.

He hears women’s voices coming from inside, and the door opens to let his mother and ex-wife tumble, laughing, out into the sunlight. A cloud of smoke follows, and a voice that Draco thinks must be Larky’s can be heard declaring that the Mistresses can call for assistance with cooking at any time, any time at all.

Helene grins at him, and Narcissa tells him he is looking well now that he has his colour back, and that he may want to avoid the kitchen for perhaps ten minutes or so, and did he know that pain perdu could be flambéed, just not very well? 

And Draco is happy. Nearly perfectly so.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

At a quarter past four, a parliament of owls arrive outside Draco’s small study. The first message is from Hannah Abbott, and the message simply: _Got him!_

Draco unties the remainder of the letters quickly and distributes Owl Treats liberally. The longest letter comes – unsurprisingly – from Lester and gives a more detailed account of the reports that have reached him at the Ministry. The team, led by Harry and Hannah, has cornered Byford in Fife, after a tip Floo-ed in by a retired Auror who spotted someone squatting in one of the old cottages at the bottom of his pear orchard. 

After a short exchange of hexes, a somewhat singed Byford has been taken into custody and is expected back at the Ministry for interview at any moment. Because Lester has been very helpful, Savage has promised that he can sit in on the interviews. Lester asks if there are any charges that Draco would like to bring personally, and assures him that there are already illegal detention and threat to the lives of Ministry staff items on the list.

Draco keeps flicking through the post. One from Savage, a little more detailed than Hannah’s. One from Fawcett, giving a clear account of the capture and asking if Draco wants to attend the interviews, closing with an offer to Side-along Apparate him there and home if he is still feeling unwell. Draco worries about Fawcett.

The ninth letter is the one that Draco does not want to admit he has been looking for. He recognises the swooping D on the front of the envelope, and wishes the fold of paper was thicker. He runs a thumbnail under the sealing wax, and then hesitates before opening it. 

And he knows that it is stupid to be this worried. Harry himself has said that they are on exactly the same terms as last week … which was after there was flirting and talk, but before snogging, so perhaps he means the week before? Or a few years ago, when he shifted from being a respected colleague to being a genuine friend over the course of an horrendous fortnight? 

Anywhere within that time frame, and Draco can live with it. After then, too. That would be fine, if he’s being honest. Just not before. Not the professional courtesy of their first years working alongside each other.

Stop, he tells himself, and opens the letter.

_Hannah tells me she has already written to you,_ it says. _You were missed on the op, though there weren’t any near-death incidents in your absence. Will talk you through it when you’re back at work._

At the bottom, there is a familiar H. 

Draco reads it again to be certain. 

There is a quiet knock on the door. 

“Is there news?” Helene asks. “I was in the garden, and I saw all the owls.”

“They’ve caught Byford,” Draco says.

“Excellent!” She kisses his cheek warmly. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Byford, a little. He resisted being caught.”

“His own fault, then.”

She sits in the reading chair by the window and picks up a few of the Owls that he has dropped onto the table there.

“I see that Lester is determined to be involved until the bitter end. And Fawcett really is keen on you. We should invite him to my party, it will be amusing. For me, if not for you.”

Draco shakes his head, but cannot hide his smile.

“Is that from Harry?” She points to the letter in his hand.

“Yes.”

“What does it say?”

Draco hands the page over. Helene reads it carefully. 

“It’s short,” she says, “but encouraging, I think.”

“We’re still talking,” Draco points out. 

“You were missed,” Helene replies with a grin.

“Do you think that’s his main meaning?”

“I think he’s saying that the next move is yours.”

Draco nods agreement. 

“Ah,” Helene continues. “And you want the next move to be his.”

Draco looks out the window. 

“He did give up far too easily,” Helene says, loyally. “Listening to you in that state – ridiculous! Though, my dear, silly Draco, did you think that perhaps he might be feeling as awful as you are?”

“I should bloody well hope so.”

“You could just go back to work.” 

“I will. Soon. I’m just not sure …”

“Not sure what you want?”

“Oh Helene, I absolutely know what I _want_. I’m just not sure what’s the best thing to do.”

“Poor darling.” She stands behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “You make everything so hard for yourself.”

“It’s not just about me, he’s public property.”

“When has he ever cared what people thought?”

He holds her slim, capable hands. “What if he starts?”

“Darling, I know the editor of the _Prophet_ , Harry has threatened to hex him so often that the man routinely edits out any mention of a Potter that doesn’t come attached to a Saves Wizarding World or Discovers Magical Puffin story. It will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then Scorpius and Albus will rope Lester into a political counter-move, with Lily and Rose handling the media. James may even involve himself, though hoping Hugo will be any help is probably a step too far. Your mother and I will be cuttingly sarcastic and destroy the social seasons of any enemies you obtain.”

Draco laughs. He turns and kisses the top of Helene’s head.

“Is that all the encouragement you need?” she asks.

“Nearly.”

“I would tell you to stop being afraid, but it is perfectly logical to be unsure and worried. So be brave instead. You’re good at that.”

He kisses the top of her head again, smiling at the scent of soapwort and apples. “Scorpius asked me if we were getting back together today,” he tells her.

“Dreadful boy, he knows I can do much better.”

“You certainly can. But you’ll stay my best friend, yes?”

“Of course, silly.” Helene smiles up at him. “Who else can I tease so profitably?”

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Wednesday morning sees the Malfoy household somewhat disarranged. Helene has conferred with Narcissa the night before and decided to cheer Draco up with a soiree in the conservatory, which devolved into a family Cakefest, followed by star watching and ghost storytelling, which only drew to a close when Great-great-great-Uncle Theophilus Malfoy declared he was tired of telling tales of his time as young Queen Victoria’s Wizarding Advisor and retreated to his nether realm.

Narcissa concluded the evening by conjuring up divans, and the family camped out, inside the house. They are woken late by house-elves with trays of steaming pastries and chocolate, thanks to Scorpius organising breakfast.

They have barely had time enough to dress before Albus arrives, citing ten as a perfectly reasonable hour for a luncheon appointment. Draco suspects that he has designs on some personal time with Scorpius, which are neatly torpedoed by the similarly early arrival of Lester Biggs.

Draco is happy to see Lester. He is a week behind on Ministry gossip, and after the rush of information yesterday, no-one has updated him on the progression of the Martin Byford case.

“I’m afraid that’s because it’s tedious, Mr Malfoy,” Lester informs him. “Byford has decided to go with an insanity defence and is declaring that he was pushed over the edge in the Second Wizarding War, which led to every subsequent disaster.”

“I’d happily demonstrate what being pushed over the edge actually feels like,” mutters Draco, but he is forced to concede that Byford is due his fortnight’s examination at St Mungo’s. “I have to confess, I hope they stamp him sane and he’s in the Wizengamot before the holidays finish.

“Still,” he says, brightly. “Gives me a chance to catch up with you before lunch, Lester.”

“Ah,” says Lester. “Actually, I’d hoped to kidnap Scorp and Al and take them up to town. We’ve been planning a day out for as long as I can remember and it’s always thwarted by one crisis or another.”

“Right. Yes, of course. Splendid idea. I have a number of things I was hoping to discuss with Helene and Mother today, so that will work out well for me, timing-wise.”

Draco leaves the young people to organise their adventures and goes in search of his mother. 

She is tying a large straw hat over her carefully arranged hair. 

“Garden party, darling,” she reminds him. “At the Albrechtsen’s. You declared you had something Terribly Vital on and so I’m taking Helene.”

“It’s nice weather for it,” Draco allows, looking out the window at the bright blue sky. Under which he can see three youthful figures walking across the lawn, before they Apparate out of sight.

“They’re ghastly people, but there will be dancing, and they do an excellent lunch spread. You don’t mind, do you? You won’t be lonely?” 

“Mother, I’m not a child. Go off and have some fun. Helene has spent all week cheering up sick people, she deserves a treat.”

After Helene and Narcissa head out, the house is alarmingly empty. Draco busies himself in the library by reorganising his wizarding biographies bookshelves according to author, then realises he will never find anything again, so reverts to subject, and alphabetically by author within each set. He briefly contemplates spelling the whole library into coordinating sets by cover colour, but realises that then everyone will be able to see the insanity that has come with his loneliness and boredom. When the owl knocks at the window a little after midday, he nearly knocks over a side table in his hurry to open it.

While the owl helps itself to the tray of treats kept on hand, Draco reads his letter: an invitation to lunch if he is free, from Ron and Hermione, who find themselves unencumbered by children and would like some adult conversation. _No reply necessary if you’re coming_ , it says, _just turn up, and if you have any spare cake sitting around, it would not go astray_.

Draco bellows for a house-elf as he runs to change clothes into something suitable for company. 

Hermione greets him at her front door, a streak of flour down the front of her top. “Hello,” she says cheerily. “I went mad and decided to make the pastry from scratch. Things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“You look lovely.” Draco kisses her cheek and follows her in. “I brought apple spice cake, everything else met with a tragic end last night, but it has a lovely thick icing, so it’s suitably evil.”

“Good man. I have pies in the oven, a nice cold dish done, and just need to get the veg sorted. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m fine for the moment.”

“In that case, keep going through, Ron’s in the back garden getting some sun. I’ll be out shortly.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Draco offers, adding his cake to the assembly on the table.

“Just entertain Ron, it’ll take me less time to do what’s left than explain it to you.”

Ron is lazing in the shade of a tulip tree, which is still covered in a ridiculous number of flowers. The walking sticks propped against his footstool and the wheelchair nearby are the only clues that he is injured, all the colour has returned to his face, and his eyes, when they open at Draco’s footsteps, are bright and amused.

“You came!”

“I heard you were bored, so I left behind very important matters and very important people.”

Ron laughs, but peers at Draco closely. “How’s your head?”

“Fine, all better. How are your legs?”

“Getting there. A few more weeks, but steady improvement.”

“Good. It’s not right seeing you lazing about, you’re meant to be loping off somewhere.”

“Sit down.” Ron waves his hand at the chair near his. “It’s unnatural looking up at you.” 

Draco plonks himself down and looks around. “The garden’s looking good. I think it’s improved since I was last here, and that was only a week or so ago.”

“Hermione works wonders. Between you and me, I think she’s bored out of her mind and dying to get back to work. But in the meantime, she’s going to have this household running at peak efficiency.”

“You married a brilliant woman, Ron.”

“I did. And gorgeous.”

“It’s as though you knew I was here,” Hermione says, appearing behind them with a tea tray.

“Hello, Darling,” Ron says, while Draco gets up and moves the garden table forward for her.

“Lunch is slightly delayed, so I made you tea. By the time you finish this, I should have won my battle with the oven. Should we eat out here?”

“Sounds lovely,” Ron says. “I’ll enlarge the table.”

“See you shortly,” says Hermione, heading back inside.

Draco watches her walk away. “Did I not send you a house-elf to help until you’re back on your feet?”

Ron nods. “Yep. Blentyn, and he’s a treasure. She gave him the day off.”

Draco shakes his head.

“I think he’s hiding in the barn polishing boots,” Ron admits. “But this baking thing has made her happy all day.”

“She’s worried about you,” Draco points out. “You gave us all a scare. It’s amazing to see how well you’ve recovered.”

“You’ve been in St Mungo’s, too,” Ron replies.

“For a bump on the head. Hardly the same thing. Now, milk? I’ll pour.”

“White and two,” says Ron, holding out a hand for the teacup Draco passes him.

Draco pours one for himself and adds a slice of lemon. He takes a sip and relaxes in the warm shade.

“So what's happening with you and Harry?” Ron asks. 

Draco chokes on his tea.

Ron continues, “I ask because I have few opportunities for comedy in my current state, and you two were providing dozens before the weekend. Was there a fight while you were trapped? Did he insult your complicated fashion sense? Because I think you can still carry off those high-necked tops, regardless of what others say. Or did the two of you finally shag and it was awful?”

Draco has wisely put his teacup down, which is the only reason he does not spill it all over himself at that last comment. “No we have not been … Oh Merlin, I cannot believe you asked that. There’s nothing _happening_. It's … it's a complex situation, which I think would not be wise to push at the moment.”

Ron gives him a dubious look. “Draco, mate, I say this with love, but you and Harry are anything but complex people.”

“Hilarious. Look, I don’t know what he’s told you …”

“Nothing. I have eyes. Observant eyes that work, though Blind Freddy would have noticed the two of you ages ago. So don’t tell me nothing’s happening, because that’s obviously untrue.”

Draco opens and closes his mouth. He engages his brain and then tries again. “There was a moment of confusion, out of which a misunderstanding arose, which is in the process of being sorted out. And going back to normal. And don’t give me that look, going back to normal is probably the best option all round. Think of the reaction at work. And in the media. And Scorpius and Albus probably wouldn't welcome us … well … anyway …” Draco’s brain gives it up as a bad job.

Ron nods. “I admit that Fawcett would be devastated, but I’m not sure that his feelings ought to be considered in the matter. Anyway, have you asked them?”

“Asked whom?”

“Scorpius and Albus.”

Draco blinks.

Ron continues: “Because they're very bright young men and far more able than you seem to think. From what Al was saying yesterday, I think both the lads were rather hoping that you and Harry might actually sort yourselves out.”

“Albus said what?”

“Apparently he was against the idea at first, and then Scorpius was, and then they both decided that they were being ridiculous. I had the impression one of them was going to say something to you. But anyway, they’re a terrible reason for you entering into this spirit of monastic denial.”

“I can't believe I am having this conversation with you …” Draco mutters. 

“ _You're_ surprised,” Ron counters with a laugh. “But someone has to talk sense to you, and out of all your friends I'm the only one who is still in possession of and on excellent terms with his family, wife, children, friends and workmates.”

Draco gapes. He realises this and snaps his mouth shut, before swallowing his own laugh. “Oh Merlin, it's true. You're actually the most successful adult of all of us when it comes to relationships. What a horrible thing to realise!”

“To be fair, Hermione did boot me into usefulness in the marriage department, though I worked out the family and friends bits myself.”

Draco does laugh now – at himself more than anything else. “It’s just … hard,” he admits after a little while.

“It’s meant to be hard,” Ron says. “But you’re good at it. Do you remember how you and I became friends?”

“Through the kids,” Draco answers quickly, still embarrassed at his early treatment of all people Weasley.

“Yeah, but not the way you think. I still thought you were a prat for a long time after we started working together, and even after Scorpius started hanging around with Rose and Al.”

Draco smiles, he remembers. 

“But the more I saw your son, and saw what you were like with your son, the more I liked you. And you decided that you had to get on with me, because you were friends with Harry, and because Rose would have been hell-bent on correcting you otherwise, and you worked at it. And much as my younger self would be horrified, I quite like having you around now. That’s the thing about relationships, you’re meant to have to work at them. But you’re good at that, just look at you and me. ”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Ron, but it’s not quite the same.”

“Which I put down to your abominable taste in men and my excellent taste in wives.”

“Exactly.” Draco grins.

“But still, it’s not totally different.” Ron looks at a tree some distance to Draco’s right, and his cheeks turn pink, but he ploughs on. “At the risk of sounding like Rose, it all boils down to something very simple. Do you love him?”

Draco stares at the back of Ron’s neck in horror. “I’m not going to … talk with you about … Oh, bugger it. Yes.”

Ron nods, then turns back. “Then stop worrying. It won’t be easy, the two of you will obviously cock things up many times and there may be a mild spot of hexing, but Hermione and I made it through that period in our relationship and survived, I’m sure the two of you can manage it.”

“What if we can’t?” Draco asks. “What if it all goes horribly, horribly wrong?”

"Is it going to be any worse than how the two of you are right now? Because from the outside, you're behaving like two people who've broken up. And you didn't actually get the relationship first. Which seems a stupid way to do it. Now I have to say that the thought of the two of you together is not something I want to imagine in detail, and I will probably just pretend it’s not happening a lot of the time, and for Merlin’s sake you can never share any of the actual details with me on fear of extreme hexing, but you make each other happy, and stranger things have happened."

“You and Hermione.”

“Exactly.” Ron waves a cane in a particularly geriatric fashion. “I know whereof I speak, young Malfoy! I wasted years because I was afraid to try anything and fail. And then we both realised that failing wasn’t the worst thing that could happen – not trying was.”

“You’re secretly very wise,” Draco says with a fond smile.

“People overlook it due to the extreme handsomeness.”

“It’s your curse.”

“So, just be brave, Draco. Go and see him.”

“You’re the second man to talk to me about feelings in the last 48 hours. It’s tremendously disconcerting.”

Ron grins. A bowl of salad floats past him. 

“Ah, lunch, excellent. Pick up your tea, Draco, I’m just going to push the table out.”

Draco takes his cup and saucer, and Ron casts a quick Engorgio, tripling the size of the garden table. He is just in time. Hermione appears, surrounded by a flock of plates, pies, glasses, cake, bread and cutlery. A tablecloth rushes past and throws itself across the table, the lunch items settle into place on top. Hermione adds the large jug of iced water that she has been carrying and sits down, smiling at both of them.

“Did you have the talk?” Hermione asks.

Draco does snort tea at that, but thankfully there is a napkin to hand. He coughs until his nose is free of beverage, then tries to look serious. “Why is it that all my friends are so interfering?” he asks.

“Because you and Harry are dim, dear,” Hermione tells him. “Lovely and brave and very pretty, but oh-so dim.”

“How is it that you never became friends with Pansy?”

“There are limits, Draco.”

“I talked with him,” Ron says. “He’s going to sort it all out.”

“But after lunch, yes? I’m quite proud of that pastry, it turns out all you need is to make sure the ingredients are very cold.”

“After lunch,” Draco agrees. “But if everything goes completely wrong, I’m hiding in your barn until it all blows over.”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell Helene and she can ship some creature comforts across for you. Ron will deny all knowledge of your whereabouts and I’ll lay in a large supply of cake and firewhisky. But it’s not going to come to that.”

Draco bows a thank you at her. “Now can we change the subject before I die of embarrassment?”

Hermione pats his knee, and passes him a slice of very good pie. Ron talks nonsense about Quidditch and, for ninety minutes, Draco relaxes happily. 

At last, he stands up, offers to help with the dishes, and thanks his hosts when the offer is declined. 

“Off to the Ministry?” asks Ron. 

“I’ll have Blentyn let you know if I find myself in the barn,” Draco replies.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Draco steps out of the lift on the second level of the Ministry and follows a familiar path. The door to Harry’s office is open, and he can see the back of a head-full of black hair. But the figure beneath is wrong.

“Albus?”

“Mr Malfoy,” Albus jumps a little in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I thought you were out with Lester and Scorpius.”

“I am, but Dad asked me to stop in and pick up a few papers for him.”

“Ah.”

“Were you looking for him?”

Draco is unable to come up with an alternative explanation for his presence there. “Harry was going to fill me in on the Byford arrest,” he settles on.

“He’s taken the day off. I thought you weren’t coming back to work until next week.”

“I’m not, I was just … in the vicinity.”

Albus nods. “He’s at home. Alone.” Albus smiles with not entirely convincing innocence and holds out a sheaf of parchment. “You could take these to him and then we wouldn’t need to go back there tonight at all.”

Draco doesn’t move.

Albus’s certainty wavers. “I thought Scorpius had a talk with you.”

Draco takes a breath. “We did have a discussion, but he was extremely cryptic. He could have been encouraging me to go and see your father, or he could have been angling for a new racing broom. It can be hard to tell.”

“It was …”

“Yes, thank you, Albus, I think I can guess. You go back to lunch. I’ll … I’ll take those papers for you.”

Albus smiles widely. “Thanks, Mr Malfoy. I’ll see you soon.” 

He starts to leave, then pauses. When he turns around, his cheeks are reddening. “Mr Malfoy, if you and Dad do … do you know about … because it’s not like …”

Draco freezes, horrified at what Albus could possibly want to share that would make him blush. 

“That is to say …” Albus stammers to a stop, looks at Draco’s face and clearly decides that discretion _is_ the better part of valour. 

“You’re a research wizard, it will be fine,” he says, and all but runs from the office.

Draco stands, blinking, for a moment, before he decides it will probably be best all round if he pretends that never happened. 

He heads to the lift, parchments tucked under one arm. It arrives after a few seconds and he steps in, noting the other occupant.

“Hannah, good to see you.”

“You’re looking well, Malfoy,” Hannah Abbot says with a smile. “I didn’t know you were back. Do you have a few minutes? I can tell you all about capturing Byford. I used particularly sticky hexes, just for you.”

Draco grins. “You’re a true friend, Hannah. I owe you a drink.”

“I’ve got time now.”

Draco hesitates. It’s a perfectly valid excuse, after all … “No, thanks. I’m headed over to Harry’s.”

“Ah. That’s fine. We’ll catch up later.”

The lift doors close and it starts its journey towards the atrium. “So are you two shagging?” Hannah asks conversationally.

“Is there anyone left in the Ministry who doesn’t think we are?” Draco sighs.

“People who haven’t seen you in the last few weeks, a few witches and a few wizards who are convinced one or the other of you is habouring secret desires for them, and Keating in Accounting – I’m not sure he realises that genitals have recreational purposes.”

“I love you, Hannah,” Draco says.

“Of course you do, in a pure and spiritual way. So?”

“Off to go and find out,” Draco replies, as the lift bings and the doors open.

“Good luck!”

And because the day can’t get any weirder, Draco kisses her cheek lightly and sets off, humming to himself.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

There is an unusually loud Apparition crack announcing Draco’s arrival at the trees that line the rear of the Potter garden – this is what comes of rushing. Harry is seated at the outdoor table close to the back door. Draco is surprised that Harry doesn’t look up, but then he sees the quill in his hand and the piles of paper around him, and realises he must be catching up on his reports.

Draco pauses for a minute, watching as Harry writes fluently, then stops and checks something on another sheet, before returning to his task. It’s so mundane – not at all the man of action Harry purports to be, and yet, this is what it will be like most of the time. Years and years of mostly normal. And they might even grow used to each other, one day. Though if past history is anything to go by, there will probably be explosions enough to prevent that.

All he needs to do is step forward out of the shadows and start that life.

Yet another moment in his life when everything is about to change thanks to Harry Potter.

At least, Draco decides, the changes have definitely improved over the years. 

He has just lifted his foot to move when Harry speaks, voice carrying across the lawn: “I can see you there.”

Draco puts his foot back down. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I was waiting until you paused in your diligent efforts.”

Harry puts his pen down meaningly, but does not stand up. “How are you?” he asks.

“Well. I’ve been flying, Apparating, it’s all fine.”

“That’s good.”

Draco takes a step. “I received your note.”

“I was expecting to hear back from you,” Harry says.

Draco takes another step. “I’m here instead. Besides, it took you a week to write to me.”

“Thr–” Harry pauses and counts on his fingers. “Four days!”

“You lied,” says Draco, lightly, with another step.

“Oh?”

“You said that nothing would change.”

There is a pause, where Draco thinks that last step may have been a wrong one, and then a smile flicks across Harry’s face. “Nothing _will_ change. Once I’ve finished having a good sulk about things.”

And it really is all right then, so Draco grins. “So you’re resigned to it all?”

Harry shrugs. “You said yourself this was a bad time.”

This step is slightly longer. “No, I used a similar phrase as the start of a longer sentence.”

“And then you stopped talking.”

“Because I was unconscious.”

Harry hears what is not yet being said, and he starts to grin, too. “You raise a convincing point,” he concedes.

“So you decide to put the worst-possible light on things,” Draco goes on – he is halfway across the garden now.

“I didn’t think you were very keen on the idea.”

“I had my tongue in your mouth a short time before.”

“That was a near-death situation, we have a history of losing our heads.”

And then Draco has to stop walking, because he is laughing far too much to coordinate movement at the same time. After a minute, he shakes his head. “Hermione was right, we are dim.”

“Hermione said that?” Harry asks, without surprise. 

“She did. She meant it as encouragement, I’ve been sulking, too, you know.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had all week,” Harry says. 

And he smiles so brightly that Draco realises that no matter what happens, even if he ends up living in Ron’s barn, it will be worth it, because that smile will be turned on him, and for him … and he has walked all the way across the garden now and tossed the papers onto the table, where they lie unregarded.

Harry stands up.

“Thoroughly dim,” Draco repeats. And before Harry can respond, or move, or do anything, because Draco is determined that this action will be his, he reaches forward and tilts Harry’s jaw ever so slightly and kisses him deeply. 

He takes a half-step back.

Harry blinks at him. “Are we near death?” he asks, still smiling.

“It is quite possible that Ron will kill me if I don’t put you out of your misery, so I am going to say yes.”

“Ron will …?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d be quite interested in hearing–”

“Shut up, Harry,” Draco says, and kisses him again. 

And three fingers on a slightly stubbled jaw are nowhere near enough, so he pulls him close. Harry’s hip fits neatly into his hand, which is a marvel in itself, and then Harry’s hands are on his back and Draco’s own smile threatens to make kissing a technical challenge, at which point Harry shifts his weight and since there is nothing behind Draco the two of them go tumbling onto warm thick grass and Draco finds himself with a face-full of black hair.

He reaches up to unhook Harry’s glasses from the one ear they have remained attached to. “You are a complete lunatic,” he says.

“Was that what you were planning to tell me in the hospital?” Harry asks, rolling to one side and with that smile again.

“Yes,” Draco lies. “No. I had an entire speech planned. It was moving and very eloquent.”

“I’m sure it was a work of genius,” Harry says, brushing Draco’s hair back from his face and squinting at him.

Draco shakes his head and holds out the pair of glasses. Harry slips them back into place.

“That’s better,” he says. “I can see you.” He traces the line of Draco’s nose, then leans in and kisses the place where jaw meets neck.

Draco’s head thuds ever-so-slightly back against the ground. 

“How did the speech end?” Harry whispers.

“Yes,” Draco replies. “Of course it ended with ‘Yes’.” And to prove his words, he leans to his left and kisses Harry again.

Time passes. Draco has no idea how much, but his skin is warming under the sun and Harry’s touch. 

Harry breaks their kissing slowly and leans back. He shakes his head, with a rueful smile. “You could have said that weeks ago, you know. Months or years, even. Think what we could have done.”

Draco knows that’s a lie, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “We’d have killed each other. Now. Now is the right moment. Possibly a few days ago if you’d been less hasty.” He sits up on one elbow and looks down at Harry. “You’re not going to leave your glasses on all the time, are you?”

“Only till I have you memorised.” 

And he is teasing, but Draco realises that Harry will see every part of him, learn every pore, and that Harry’s body is likewise something he has permission to trace until he knows its lines by heart. Albus was right, this will require research – hands-on seems best. 

Draco starts his study with the hip his hand hasn’t left. Harry’s shirt is happily not tucked in, and there is skin just a short movement away. Draco traces the line of the bone with his fingertips, and even in the mid-afternoon of a summer’s day, Harry shivers. Encouraged, Draco shifts his hand further inside Harry’s shirt, making a bid for ribs this time. 

Suddenly he is being tipped backwards, and then Harry is on top of him, one thigh pushed between his and with hands that move quickly from Draco’s shoulders to sink into his hair – all of which registers only hazily, because he is being kissed so fiercely that he has to remember to breathe. And then he becomes acutely aware of where Harry’s leg is, and where his hips are, and that the rhythmic upward yearn of his own hips is being answered in kind. And …

“Stop,” he manages to gasp. 

Harry leans back quickly, looking uncertain. 

Draco arches up and quickly kisses Harry’s jaw to reassure him. He is startled at the quickness of his own breaths. “Seriously,” he says. “We need to stop for a bit. I came in my trousers for you once before, I want something more dignified this time.”

And Harry laughs. Throws his head back, rolls over to his back and laughs. After a second, Draco joins him. They end up with their heads together and arms wrapped about each other, still grinning.

“That was a lifetime ago,” says Harry.

“I remember it perfectly, too,” Draco tells him. “I’ve always remembered it, even when I thought you didn’t care in the slightest, I held onto it. And when things were bad, it made them better.”

Harry isn’t grinning anymore. Draco worries that he has said too much, but Harry reaches up to brush the hair back from Draco’s face. 

“I always cared,” Harry says simply.

“Well I know that _now_. At the time it was more near death, followed by first serious sexual experience, followed by abandonment.”

“I did _not_ abandon you. You waltzed off with your family. Completely different.”

Draco sits up. “That is not what happened.” 

He is careful to keep his legs where they are pleasantly entangled, but needs to be out of kissing range for a moment. “You told me to wait in the castle and the next thing I knew, you were off cavorting with Death Eaters, before disappearing, defeating the bad guy, and then disappearing again. I spent several hours in mortal fear for your life, during which time I perfectly accept that you had other priorities. But afterwards you didn’t even look at me. The only reason I ended up with the details of where you’d been is because my parents found me and told me …”

Harry interrupts. “I _was_ looking for you. And you were with them. You didn't even turn around. You weren't even watching to see whether he killed me.” There is just the slightest edge of petulance in his voice, though Harry looks embarrassed by it.

“But I knew he couldn't kill you,” Draco says in slow wonder. “After seventeen years of trying, why would he suddenly work it out at that exact moment? I thought you were going to kill him and I didn't want to watch that, because … because I didn't want to see you become a killer. That's not you. If I had known you had a cunning plan …”

“He'd already mostly killed me once that evening, you know,” Harry reminds him, levering himself up onto his elbows.

Draco waves the idea away. “I assumed it was a wily ruse. That you were using some of those famed Potter skills to hold your breath for ten minutes. Never once thought you were actually dead.”

Harry is genuinely startled. “Wily ruse? When did I have wily ruses? Those were your stock in trade.”

“Oh please,” Draco snorts. “Invisibility cloak, gillyweed gills, secret passages abungo – you were the wily wizard.”

Harry looks at him, for a long moment, then bursts out laughing again. 

Draco tries to resist, because this should be a serious moment. This is sorting out 25-and-a-bit years of misunderstandings and they should definitely begin this relationship on clear ground. But it’s hopeless. He’s already laughing. Harry reaches up to him and drags their foreheads together, then slips and they both end up back on the ground. 

“We are so much dimmer than Hermione credits,” Harry says between laughs.

“Best not tell her. She’d be a bit insufferable about it.” 

“But with love.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Harry pushes Draco’s hair back again, Draco is starting to quite enjoy it when he does that, it sometimes leads to snogging. But this time, Harry speaks instead, his voice tinged with astonishment.

“All that and you came back. You thought I’d just walked away, but you still let me become your friend …”

Draco pokes him in the arm. “Of course I did. You never tried to fix me. You just took me as I was, even when I was an idiot. In my whole life, you’ve always been the only person who always saw me exactly as I was.”

“I thought you were fascinating.”

“You thought I was a spoiled rotter.” 

“But a _fascinating_ one.”

“You gave me space to fix myself, and you noticed when I did. You trusted me to do the right thing. You were the first person who ever did.”

And for a moment they are back in a war-ravaged castle, with the bitter dust of ash lining their throats and the sudden realisation that they are both alive thanks to each other. 

Harry’s hand sinks further into Draco’s hair. “Even when you hated me,” he says, “you hated _me_. Not some construct with the same name as me. Even when I hated you, I thought you were brilliant for that.”

And Draco finds it ridiculous that not long ago he was predicting a future full of mundane moments for them. There will never be anything not remarkable about this.

He smiles at Harry, and there must be something about smiles today, because Harry pulls him back to the ground and holds him tightly for a moment. And then Harry relaxes his grip and moves back a little to just look at Draco.

Draco looks back. There is a bloom of colour along Harry’s cheeks and lips that has nothing to do with the sun, and the brightness of his eyes is not a trick of his glasses. Draco can see the smattering of silver hairs in among the black, and is relieved that the sun will be hiding the similar ones on his own head. He can smell the warm grass they have somewhat crushed, and the rich sweet fragrance of heliotrope in sunlight. Closer, he can smell Harry’s soap, and a touch of tea, and a sort of healthy vigour that doesn’t have a name and would be absurd to call Potteryness. In the distance he can hear the river, and birds, and life outside this small space, but he bets none of that is quite as pleased as he is to be wherever and whatever it is as he is right at this moment.

Harry kisses his cheekbone fleetingly. “Do you want to try for something more dignified?” he asks. “Or do you want to stay out here for a bit? It’s warm today, and beautiful.”

“Both,” says Draco.

“Greedy.”

“Where you’re concerned? Always.”

“Excellent news.”

And the corners of Harry’s eyes crinkle up with his smile, which Draco finds utterly charming, and he doesn’t begrudge him the very slight relief he hears in his voice, because he strongly suspects they will both have no idea what they are doing for some aspects of what’s to come, and Merlin help him, he may well end up doing actual research, but thankfully there are books for that sort of thing. Right now, there is a perfect summer’s afternoon and no one has tried to blow them up for days and neither Lester nor Fotherington knows they are here, so there will be no interruptions with moments of national crisis. 

“Do I have you all afternoon?” Harry asks, then adds more hesitantly but hopefully, “All night? When do you have to go home?”

Draco bunts his forehead against Harry’s. “Thicky,” he says, fondly. “I am home. I’m with you.”

And the smile Harry turns on him in reply convinces Draco that he has underestimated just how worth it everything will be. He twines his fingers into the mess of Harry’s hair and rubs noses before adding a languid kiss. And while part of his body suggests that he could, with advantage, impart a sense of urgency to the proceedings now, the rest of him is content to take its time. He doesn’t need the Room of Futures to predict there will be many years for them, and that they can spare the first few hours.


End file.
